Mark The Earth With Ruin
by Gamine
Summary: Sequel to 'Wait For No Man. 'So free we seem, so fettered fast we are' - Robert Browning. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Anyone represented or mentioned in the movie belongs to someone else, not me. Annie Palmer was a real person and belonged to herself when she was alive. You can tell who the OCs are, I bet.

A/N: Molto grazie to Kahva and Rach! Set three years after the end of 'Wait For No Man'. I hope you all still want a sequel… anyway, if you haven't read that, this one won't make much sense.

Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 1

Governor Edmund Norrington got up from his desk and walked to the window, angling the pages he held to see them better in the bright Jamaican sunlight. He stuck his quill behind his ear and murmured aloud the words he'd been poring over for weeks now. If they were to be listened to, the syntax had to be just right, the ideas proposed not too sentimental yet not too cold, the language strong but not off-putting.

"…even the most austere student of economy will allow that the decimation of the working class is cause for alarm," he muttered to himself, hitching up one hip to perch on the wide sill. "While returns in the short term seem to indicate profitability, the fact yet remains that the larger view must and does show that it is impractical at best to allow the continued destruction of an entire class of citizenry… no, that's not right…" Edmund huffed out a frustrated sigh. "People? No, no one likes to be reminded of that. I've already said working class. Unpaid laborers? Um…"

The door to the elegantly spare office where Edmund did most of his governing slammed open suddenly, revealing a most exquisitely dressed and beaming Lord John Finch, née the 'late' Captain Jack Sparrow. "Ned!"

Edmund cocked a brow at him. "I'm working, Jack."

Jack snorted. "You work too much, if you ask me." He made his way to the sideboard and made a thorough investigation of the decanters there. "Why is the rum gone?"

"Because you drank it yesterday, and you may have noticed I _didn't_ ask you." Edmund put his quill down with a resigned air. "Out with it, then. You're about to burst a button off that ridiculous waistcoat wanting to tell me something."

Jack looked down at himself. "What do you mean, ridiculous? Weston said it made me look, and I quote, 'quite the gentleman'."

Edmund grinned, looking over the butter-yellow waistcoat with its pattern of pea-green acanthus leaves and garish mauve squash blossoms. Lieutenant Governor James Weston had a puckish sense of humor, to say the least. Or quite possibly the thing was the height of fashion, for all Edmund knew.

The Governor stifled a chuckle. He wouldn't hurt Jack's feelings for the world. "Well, I expect Weston would know. What's your news, then?"

Jack rubbed his hands together. "Pirates, Ned, me old son. Pirates."

Edmund got to his feet. "Where? Here?"

Jack chuckled. "You sound like you expect them to be coming through the door. No, not here. Off the Venezuelan coast, Aruba, Curaçao, that area. Gibbs is getting the _Pearl_ ready."

"I gather these are not on your list of 'good pirates and good men'?"

Jack wrinkled his nose. "Not even close to anything like it. Captain's a scoundrel by the name of Nicodemus."

Edmund thought for a moment. "It's the _Seraph_, then?" He nodded in wholehearted agreement. "Aye, that one deserves all he can get. Maybe a troop ship –" Edmund broke off, chuckling involuntarily at Jack's comical expression of dismay and shaking his head at the same time. "I can hardly ignore the duties of my office, Jack."

Jack gave a disbelieving snort. "Seems to me you do when it suits you."

"I don't know what you mean." Edmund was ruffled.

Jack gestured to himself. "Pirate?"

"Oh, that." Edmund grinned and gave up on the paperwork. "Have you forgotten my sister is due in port any day? If you abandon me before this damned ball I'm to give for her Thursday next, I might recall my duty to hang all pirates, even the good men among them. You did promise Lord John's faithful attendance."

Jack poured himself a tot of whiskey. "Nay, I do remember. And both Lord John Finch and Captain Jack Sparrow keep their word, so I will be at your ball with me dancing slippers on. But Friday next the _Pearl_ is off to Aruba. You can keep your troop ship."

Edmund poured himself a whiskey and clinked his glass to Jack's. "What if I send out the troop ship on Saturday?"

"I can handle the likes of Nicodemus," Jack protested. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?"

"A fact which it is not wise to advertise." Edmund took a drink. "Savvy?" Jack made a face; the Governor grinned, then sobered. "In seriousness, Jack, from all accounts Nicodemus is a dangerous man. Maybe you'd best leave him to the Navy."

Jack made a rude noise.

"There are accounts of blackbirding, Jack."

"All the more reason to give the captain of the _Seraph_ a taste of my blade. Put the fear of God into him. Or of me." The pirate gave a cocky grin. "Much the same thing, really." Edmund rolled his eyes. Jack chuckled and toasted the Governor. "Black Jack Sparrow, the Demon Pirate, will teach those dogs the error of their ways!" He downed the whiskey and shot his friend a conspiratorial look. "And besides, it's fun!" 

~*~

"Land ho!"

Emmeline Norrington held her modest chapeau tightly to her neatly coiffed head as she squinted up toward the crow's nest to see where the sailor was pointing. There, just off the starboard bow. She gathered her skirts and hurried forward, grasping the gunwale tightly as she leaned toward the horizon. There it was! Green, lush, so very beautiful… Emmy bit her lip in excitement, her gray eyes wide. Jamaica, so close she could almost reach out her hand and touch it. She shivered with the thrill of it. 

Her oldest brother Ned had left England more than a decade ago, a newly made Lieutenant, to make his name in the West Indies. And made it he had. Emmy smiled. Governor Edmund Norrington. Such a grand sounding name; was her brother as grand, now? Would she even know him? Or was he still the Ned she had loved?

She had been only nine when she had seen him last. Ned had carried a soft spot in his heart for the baby of the family, however, and while he corresponded regularly with their parents and the rest of their seven siblings, hardly a month went by that did not see a thick envelope arrive for Emmy's eyes alone.

Such adventures he had had! Were not Edmund the most scrupulously truthful brother on Earth, Emmy would suspect that he had made the whole of them up to entertain her. Sometimes he sent pictures, too, small sketches he had made of life in Port Royal, or pen-and-ink portraits of his especial friends. Recently he'd taken to enclosing drawings by his goddaughter, her name signed in straggly letters all over the bottom of the page.

Emmy hugged herself. Ned had promised before he left that he would send for her as soon as she was of age and he could support her. It had seemed that time would never come; but now, here she was, and there was Jamaica, and the docks of Port Royal.

"Excited, my dear?" The deep, feminine voice startled her, so wrapped up was she in her thoughts.

Closing her eyes, Emmy schooled her expression into placidity and turned to greet her fellow passenger. "Why, yes, thank you, Mrs. Palmer."

The other woman smiled. "My dearest Emmy, how often must I ask you to call me Annie?"

Emmy suppressed a shiver, this one decidedly not excitement. "I beg your pardon, Annie." 

Annie Palmer's dark eyes bored into Emmy's own, and the younger woman dropped her gaze after a moment. The other woman was undeniably beautiful, and had been nothing that was not kind to Emmeline; but there was something about her that Emmy could not put a finger on, yet found vaguely disquieting nonetheless.

And yet Emmy was conscious that she owed Annie Palmer a debt of gratitude. The voyage out of England and friendly waters had met with more than its fair share of calamity. Nearly every man on board ship had fallen ill, one after the other. Many of them had succumbed and been put overboard, buried at sea. The captain himself had been nigh death for three long weeks. And it had been Annie herself who nursed the master and his crew back to health, though Emmy and the other women on board had done all they could to help.

Emmeline squared her shoulders and took herself firmly in hand. Annie Palmer deserved gratitude indeed, and evidently desired friendship. Emmy could do no less. Were they not two English women far from their native shores?

She smiled at Annie. "I confess I am quite beside myself at the thought of seeing my dearest Edmund again. I hope he will know me."

Annie joined Emmy at the gunwale, watching the sailors ready the ship to make berth. "Ah yes, your brother the governor," she said with an answering smile, her voice carrying the lilt of a faint Scottish brogue. "I look forward to meeting him."

A wisp of cloud passed over the sun, shadowing the other woman briefly. Emmy nodded. "I shall introduce you with pleasure."

~*~

The flower seller bobbed a curtsey at the handsome, well-dressed man before her. "Your usual, sir?"

William Turner, Sr., known to friends and intimates as Bill, smiled and nodded. "Aye, lass. Pink roses, if ye please."

She had the nosegay ready and proffered it with an answering smile. "I saved the best for you, Mr. Turner."

Bill tugged on the wide brim of his plumed hat. "Ye allus do, Lucy, 'n' I'm most grateful. I know Miss Rose will like these."

The flower seller dropped another curtsey as he gave her a coin. "'Tis more than a year now that you've daily bought these roses. Perhaps I'll be huntin' out white roses for you soon, sir?" she asked teasingly.

Thanks to ten years spent under an ancient curse, the ex-pirate already appeared far too young to be father to a grown son and grandfather as well. The blush that suffused his face at the flower seller's words made him look even younger. "May be, Lucy, if I've any luck at all."

It might have been his shyness or confusion that caused it, or maybe he was meditating on the idea of matrimony; but whatever the reason Bill turned around with less attention than usual, and as a result collided abruptly with a slim figure in claret merino. He picked himself up, apologizing profusely, flushing painfully at his clumsiness, and reached to help the woman up.

Their fingers met, she smiled at him, and Bill felt an odd thrill run down his spine, his focus narrowing abruptly to the vision before him. He forgot everything: where he was, why he was there, what he'd planned to do next. She was beautiful, intoxicating. He held her hand longer than he should have, unwilling to release her before he'd learned her name at the least, wondering if she knew she was caressing his hand gently with her thumb. "Please fergive me, miss. I'm not usually so lubberly. William Turner, I am."

She smiled, and he was fascinated by the stretch and curl of her wine-colored lips. "Mrs. Annie Palmer," she said, and Bill's spirits sank. She was married. "I am just returning to Jamaica after a year in England to bury and mourn my late husband," the exotic beauty went on, her voice carrying just a whiff of Scottish heather. "We – I – have a plantation in Montego Bay."

Bill's universe righted itself. Not married after all, and done with wearing black crepe. He smiled and offered her his arm. "May I escort ye to yer destination, Mrs. Palmer? To ensure nothin' else untoward happens to arrest yer journey," Bill explained with a twinkle in his dark eyes.

"My thanks, kind sir," she said with a bright little laugh, and they started down the street.

Behind them, a nosegay of pink roses lay forgotten in the dirt.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 2

__

Maman took the Hand from the tall, bearded pirate, gently wiping the blood from it, and placed it back on the stone table in the center of the cave. "You was right, Edward. You never needed this to make you what you is. Now you take the young Jack here and get yourself back to the Revenge_, get that lad's arm bound up so it don't heal wrong."_

Edward Teach nodded his great shaggy head, putting a tender arm around fifteen-year-old Jack's shoulders. "That I'll do, Maman. We'll wait fer ye."

Maman shook her head, her long white hair lifting and settling around her shoulders. "No need. I has to remain, make sure the Hand is protected."

"How can ye? She blinded ye," the pirate said, almost apologetically. "It ain't right, leaving a blind woman alone. Even you, Maman."

Maman shrugged. "Aye, my eyes is dead, but I got other ways to see. You don't fear about that. But this I has to do, and do now."

Clearly unhappy about it, Teach nodded, turning to go, then hesitated. "What about young Jack here? He knows where it is. And she knows he knows."

The old woman shook her head. "I is too old for this, that's clear. I clean forgot. Here, boy. You takes this." She held out a small bag, tied to a string. Feeling along his face gently, Maman looped it around Jack's neck.

He plucked at it with his good hand. "What's this?" he asked.

"You wears this all the time, non? The witch can't get to you while you has this on you." Maman nodded with satisfaction. "An' if you needs me, you burns it. Not the whole thing, mind, else you won't keep the protection. But you burns it, an' I come."

Jack frowned. "But she's dead."

Maman and Teach exchanged looks. "Come on, Jack," said Teach.

Jack peered into the water as they made their way out of the cave. There she was, her face still and white and blurred by the water, her hair a raven cloud around her, moving gently with the lapping of the sea.

And then her black eyes opened.

Jack sat bolt upright with a shout, gulping for air. By the Powers, he'd not had that dream in years.

He passed a shaking hand over his face, and then groped in his shirt for the charm Maman had given him. As always, it gave him peace.

Jack swung his legs from the bed and padded to the desk, grasping the decanter of rum and taking a healthy swig right from the bottle. This was what came of sobriety, he thought grimly to himself. Terrors in the afternoon. Memories grabbing one by the short hairs. He took another swig. Half-seas-over had much to recommend it, in Jack's frank opinion, no matter what Ned said.

But then Ned hadn't seen all Jack had.

Jack eyed the remaining contents of the decanter, seriously considering finishing it off. But tonight was that flaming ball, and Ned would have his head if Jack missed it, or showed up three sheets to the wind.

The rum was burning a comfortable path to his head. Jack sighed happily, and then was startled by an urgent knock on the door. One of the Governor's manservants cracked the door open. "Sir? Are you awake?"

Jack beckoned him in. "What's happened?"

"The Governor asked me to wake you if necessary, to give you a message."

Jack made a winding motion with his hand. "Well? What is it?"

The servant cleared his throat pontifically. "First, that this evening's ball has been cancelled due to the recent rash of illnesses in the town. And second and most importantly, the Governor asks that you meet him at the smithy. His exact words were, 'Trouble at Will's – tell Lord John to hurry'."

~*~

Jack slid easily from the back of the horse he'd borrowed from Edmund's stable and ran to the smithy house door. The sound of hoofs on cobbles had evidently alerted those inside, for the door was thrown open as he raised his hand to pound. Jack brushed past Norrington's sister – Evelyn? Ethel? Emmy, that was it – with a nod. "Where is everyone? What's happened?"

Emmy indicated the stairs. "They're all up there."

Jack threw his coat across the front room table and headed for the landing. "What's happened?" he repeated. "Lizbet, she's not…?"

"No, no," Emmy said quickly. "It's Mr. Turner's father."

That stopped him with a foot on the step. "Old Bill? What's happened to him?"

"He's quite ill," she said quietly, and Jack could hear in her voice that it was serious.

He shook his head. "You don't mean – he's not going to – for God's sake, woman, I just saw the man t'other day! He was right as a fiddle!"

Emmy nodded gravely. "I know, it comes on suddenly. A matter of days only. We lost several sailors on the crossing like this."

Jack glared at her. "You came on a plague ship? And you docked as though nothing was wrong?"

She glared right back, hands fisted on her hips. "I docked – ? I understand you're upset, my lord, but you have no call to be hollering at me as though I were the master of the damned ship!" Emmy clapped a hand to her mouth, clearly horrified to be caught swearing.

The slip made Jack feel marginally better for some reason. "You're absolutely right, Miss Norrington. My apologies." He had started upstairs again when she cleared her throat gently. Jack cocked a dark eyebrow at her, impatient to be with Bill. "Yes?"

"I – I've sent for help," Emmy began nervously, twisting her hands together. "I hope no one will think me too presumptuous; I know it isn't my place, but Mr. Turner is so very upset, and Ned too. I wanted to help in some way." She went on, speaking very quickly. "Mrs. Palmer was aboard the ship with me, and it was she who saved the lives of the captain and many of the crew. I've paid a lad to find her – she was to come to the ball, and I know she was staying somewhere in town rather than travel back to Montego Bay tonight. Is that – was that all right?"

Bloody lot anyone could do about it now if it weren't, thought Jack, but outwardly he smiled. "It was kind in you to think of it. If this Mrs. Palmer can do anything to help I know Will will be grateful."

She nodded jerkily, and Jack took the rest of the stairs two at a time. He actually had his hand on the latch of Bill's bedroom door when he heard a small sniffle from down the hall. The top of a honey-colored head and one dark, watery eye peeped out from behind Lizbet's door. 

Jack went to his knees and opened his arms. "Come here, poppet." She caught him in a flying tackle, burying her face in his neck, much to the detriment of Lord John's neckcloth. "All right, then, pet, ease off to starboard a bit. What's all this then?"

She gave a big sniffle. "Grandpapa is going to die, and Godpapa is sending me away, and Papa won't talk to me, and everyone is rushing about and nobody will tell me what's happening!"

"Well." Jack sat back on his heels and regarded the child. "That's quite a list. Who says your grandpapa is going to die?"

Lizbet knuckled her nose. "I heard Rose say she was afraid of it."

"And so she would be, but that doesn't mean it's what's to come. Don't give up so easily, poppet. What was next on that list of yours?"

"I have to go away."

Jack nodded. "And we'll all miss you sorely, but it's what's best when there's disease abroad. Your Godpapa wants to keep you safe. Where are you to go, did they say?"

She shook her head. "On a ship, with my god-aunt. And Belle, of course."

"Of course." God-aunt? Oh, the little Norrington. Jack smiled. "If anyone can keep you safe, Belle can. Remember?"

Lizbet nodded. "And Papa is too worried about Grandpapa to talk to me. I know."

He chucked her under the chin. "Right you are, my chick."

She buried her face in his waistcoat. "But I don't want to go away! Can't I stay with you?"

Jack thought for a bit. "What d'you say to an escort out of Jamaica harbor? I can't be on the ship with you; Papa might need me here. But the _Pearl_ can see your ship safely to open water, if you like."

One brown eye peeked up at him. "And Captain Jack Sparrow? Smoke and all?"

He grinned. "And the Captain, if I can find him." She giggled and he sent her off to Belle with a pat on the head.

~*~

It was so much worse than Jack had anticipated. Ned beckoned him into the darkened room. The body on the wide, comfortable bed was so still it took a full minute of staring before Jack could see the faint rise and fall of his old friend's chest. A raspy wheeze accompanied each breath. Bill's lips were blue, though his color was unnaturally high.

Rose sat at his head, gently stroking his forehead and hair, occasionally leaning down to whisper something to him. Will gripped his father's hand as if to hold him in the world by force, his expression a poignant mix of heartbroken and grimly determined. Edmund watched over all, a frown of deep concern on his face.

Bill gasped and choked, and they all jumped in surprise. His eyes opened, looking wildly round, lighting on Jack. "Cap'n…" he said in a harsh whisper. "Jack… I need ye t'do summat fer me." 

Will got up and indicated Jack should take his place, which he did awkwardly. "Can you not ask me when you're better, Bill?"

Bootstrap started to laugh, which turned to a gurgling cough; pinkish drool slid from his mouth, which Rose caught with a clean rag. "Don't be daft, man." He lifted a hand and fisted it in Jack's shirtfront, his grip surprisingly strong. "I need ye, Jack."

"I'm here, Bill." Jack leaned in, trying not to flinch at the sight of his friend's ravaged face and bloodshot eyes.

"Take care of me lad, Jack. Don't let him grieve too long – I've done him enough hurt in life." 

From the corner of his eye Jack saw Ned tug Will into a hard embrace, smothering the younger man's sorrow. "You know I will, Bill."

"Aye." The dying man nodded. "I do that. Ye allus were a good friend t'me, Jack. One other thing."

Jack swallowed the lump in his throat. "Aye, Bill, anything."

"When I've – " Bill coughed and started again. "When ye think I'm gone, burn me body t'ash."

Jack reared back in horror. "What?" he cried, simultaneously with Will's "No!"

Bill groped for Jack's shirt again. "I mean it, Jack. Swear t'me ye'll do it, no matter what ye may see – " And then he was convulsed by harsh, barking coughs. He fell back onto the pillows, his eyes fluttering shut.

There was a gentle knock at the door, which opened to admit Emmy and a petite, dark-haired woman. A beautiful woman. "Mrs. Annie Palmer," Emmy said briefly as the stranger approached the bed. "She was able to help some of the men on the ship, so I hoped perhaps…"

Jack got to his feet with a bow. Edmund stretched out a hand to greet the newcomer. "'Tis kind of you to offer your help, Mrs. Palmer."

She glanced at his hand, then up at his face. "You'll be the Governor, then?" Annie Palmer took Edmund's outstretched hand in her smaller one and then smiled, slowly. 

Jack discovered he didn't like her smile very much. 


	3. Chapter 3

Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 3

"Come, lad, you have to eat something," Jack cajoled, sliding the plate of bread and cheese toward him. Will gave him a look, but picked up the end of the loaf and took a bite. "Good lad." He drummed his fingers on the table for a moment. "I've promised young Lizbet to escort her to open water," Jack said after a long silence.

Will took a long drink of ale. "I've been neglecting her these last two days." He shook his head.

"Aye, well, you've had plenty on your mind," Jack said, balancing a slice of cheese on a hunk of bread and taking a bite. "She understands more than you think." They chewed in companionable silence for a bit, and then Jack got to his feet, shrugging on his coat. "What's keeping Ned? I thought he was coming to the quay with you. Isn't the little Norrington wench going with Lizbet?"

Will made a face. "I'll wager I know what's keeping him. I've never seen him look at a woman the way he looked at Mrs. Palmer."

Jack knew what he meant. The way Ned's face had suddenly lit up, the way his gray eyes seemed to sharpen and focus and follow the dark-haired stranger around… well, it was unusual, to say the least. The Palmer was a beauty, though, no denying that, even if something about her didn't sit right with Jack. Well, there was no accounting for taste.

He clapped a hand on Will's shoulder. "His timing's a bit odd, but at least 'tis good to know he's got some baser instincts. I was beginning to think he was a eunuch." That got a small grin out of the younger man, as it was intended to do.

The subject of their discourse came down the stairs then. His sister Emmy had been dispatched to the mansion to repack her trunk and join them at the wharf, and had rather mulishly obeyed; Annie Palmer was still upstairs tending to poor Bill.

"Nearly time for you to go, isn't it?" Edmund said to the men, his tone slightly impatient.

Jack was surprised, but kept it to himself. Not so Will, though. "I thought you were to come too, to see Lizbet and your sister safely away."

"Oh. Um, yes, I was. But that leaves Mrs. Palmer alone with poor Bill, which hardly seems the way to treat a Good Samaritan." Edmund's tone was haughty, one he hadn't used in front of his friends in years.

Jack cleared his throat. "Rose is still here, Ned. Mrs. Palmer would not be alone."

Edmund gave him a cold look. "Mrs. Palmer is used to more… refined company, Jack. I hardly think it would be proper to leave Mrs. Palmer otherwise unescorted."

Will and Jack exchanged astonished glances. What the hell? This was not like Edmund at all.

~*~

Dark, it was, here: the kind of dark that terrifies the very spirit of a man. 

But there had been a promise of warmth, of light; he remembered that well enough. She'd touched him once and he'd followed the promise like a rat after a piper, followed it away from everything safe, only to find the darkness slamming shut behind him, cutting off life, and light, and air.

His body betrayed him. He tried to form words, but his mouth would not obey. She'd taken that from him: the ability to name her, to tell them what he was to become. The vanguard of her army, she'd told him silently as he lay writhing in agony; the pain in his body a clouded reflection of the sorrow in his soul.

All he could do was beg for them to burn him, and even knowing he'd be burned alive, beg he did. Better to die in agony than live as she had planned. 

They were all in danger. Don't touch her! he wanted to cry, but her cruel laughter rang in his mind and his tongue refused to obey him, sapped of his will like the rest of his body. Too late, he knew it. He saw the trap sprung, saw the same change come over Norrington that had spun him away. Saw the smile of triumph again touch those wine-colored lips.

He opened bloodshot eyes at the whispered sound of a sigh. She turned from Rose, her smile rich and filled with malevolence. No, he protested silently. Not Rose. Not my Rose.

"Yours, William?" she purred, though he did not understand how she could hear him. "No longer, I think. But don't fret yourself; she is merely asleep." She approached the bed, pulling something small from her pocket. "So very easy, this has been," she said, her Scottish lilt more evident. "You made this so very, very easy."

He railed; he wept; but through it all his body remained wooden, frozen… dead.

She uncorked the tiny, iridescent bottle she held. "It's time, William."

And Bill watched in helpless horror as Annie Palmer severed the last thread of the life he knew, the warp and weft unraveling in his fevered mind, until all that was left was the cold, smooth walls of his prison, and the unmoving body on the bed.

~*~

Will turned to see Rose coming slowly down the stairs, her eyes swollen and red, her lower lip caught between her teeth. 

Ah, no, he thought. Not so soon. He looked his question, and she nodded, and Will felt something in him burst and flood. "No," he muttered, running for his life, or rather his father's, pushing past Annie at the door, who gasped in shock; but it was too late. Bill's sightless eyes stared at the ceiling, his face gray, his chest unmoving. 

In the midst of fresh grief, Will's lips tightened. Lizbet must not know, not yet. He couldn't let her go away bowed by the weight of this sorrow, yet away she had to go, for there was one grief Will would not risk. 

He stood over Bill's body for a moment, then bent swiftly and kissed the still-warm forehead. "Goodbye, Father," he whispered gently. Quickly he left the room, closing the door behind him so that his curious seven-year-old wouldn't come upon her grandfather accidentally.

Downstairs Will found a weeping Rose clasped against Jack's chest. Edmund looked at him sadly. "I'm sorry," he said. "Bill was a good man." Will nodded. 

Annie Palmer came to him, her hands outstretched. "My dear Mr. Turner, I'm so sorry I couldn't do more," she said. Will took her hands, only to have the woman jerk them away as though burned. "I'm sorry," she repeated with a gasp. "Sickroom hands – I should have wiped them." Her black gaze sharpened on him, and he shrugged dully and turned away, mildly uncomfortable with her increased regard.

Edmund noticed and was glaring at him angrily. Will suddenly found himself furious. Even brother as he was, the man had no right to conduct his ill-conceived affair of the heart in a house of mourning, and even less to suspect Will of doing the same with his father not even cold in the room above. "Excuse me," the blacksmith snapped, out of patience. "I must see to my daughter. Come to the wharf or not, as you wish," this was directed at Edmund, who flushed, "but please don't tell Lizbet what's happened. Time enough for her to grieve when the danger has passed."

~*~

__

"Give me the Hand, Blackbeard," she demanded. "Or I will take from you something I think you value rather much. And that will only be the beginning."

Edward Teach shook his head. "Ye've nothing I want, witch. An' 'tis more 'n my life is worth to give you the Hand of Power. God only knows what ye'll seek to do with it."

She laughed. "What Lucifer failed to complete, perhaps. The Hand, Teach. Is it worth more than this?" A white hand beckoned to the shadows, and Jack found himself answering her summons.

Teach cursed succinctly. "What have ye done, witch?"

"Made him mine." Her face grew cruel. "Now, Teach, the Hand. Or I shall give this boy over to whatever God he serves."

Teach looked at him, eyes narrowing. "Come 'ere, Jack." Jack fought to run to his master, but his legs wouldn't move. He looked helplessly at the tall pirate.

She flicked a hand at him. "You may answer him, Jack." 

"I – " He found his mouth suddenly working. "I want to, Cap'n, but I can't!"

She smiled, triumphantly. "You see? I may do with him what I will." Without warning she grasped Jack's arm and twisted, snapping both bones in his forearm. Jack screamed.

He jerked awake with a shout this time, cradling his arm against his body. 

The sway of his quarters reminded him where he was: on the _Black_ _Pearl_, coming back to the Jamaican cove where she sometimes berthed on the sly. He fell back in the bunk with a sigh, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

Little Lizbet had been a stitch, waving that wee hanky of hers 'til she nearly tumbled headfirst into the twilight surf. Gibbs had put on a show, lighting braziers belowdecks and floating smoke out the portholes to give the _Pearl_ an eerie air. Jack himself had taken a page from his old mentor's book and woven hempen strands through his hair and beard and lighting them, so his head seemed to be wreathed in ectoplasmic fumes. The expression on the face of the stiff captain Edmund had appointed was worth the effort alone. And Emmeline Norrington had been trying not to laugh aloud, from what Jack could see through his spyglass. 

And then he'd come down to his old cabin to try and catch up on the sleep he'd missed earlier… Jack angrily bundled the tangled bedclothes into a ball and threw them to the floor, stalking to the sideboard and pouring a tot. These clouded, half-remembered horrors – why were they haunting him now?

He drained the glass and poured another, brooding over it. If not for the muslin bag hanging round his neck he'd think they were merely that – horrors, nightmares, midnight terrors. Not real. Not true.

But true they were, though he was faulty at best on the details. Those few days at the end of his service on Blackbeard's ship were shrouded in fog, blanketed and becalmed in the sea of his own confused mind. The face of his tormentor was never clear, just a general impression of dark hair, pale skin, eyes black as sin.

He crossed to the balcony and looked up at the moon. The Hand of Power, his master had called the thing the witch was after; but what exactly it was, Jack never really knew.

Where it was… that was a different matter. 

~*~

They buried old Bill the next day, not wanting to delay and possibly spread disease. Jack had mentioned his friend's earlier request, but Edmund had pointed out that there were no facilities for cremation in Port Royal. It was just as well, Jack thought. The idea clearly shocked young Will, and enough was enough, really.

The local chaplain read the obsequies, and Jack did his best by way of a eulogy. Rose was there, white-faced but stoic. Annie Palmer was at the graveside as well, though Jack wasn't fool enough to think it was out of compassion for the family of the dead, not the way she kept watching Norrington. And Will. And Jack himself. He grimaced inwardly. How did one rid oneself of a limpet?

Edmund, for his part, started to cough suddenly, and finally had to be excused when his nose began to bleed.


	4. Chapter 4

Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 4

The Governor's room was dark for the time of day; the curtains were all drawn, making the room stiflingly hot. Jack ran a finger around his collar as he approached the bed where Edmund's huddled figure lay.

He cleared his throat and a bloodshot gray eye opened and looked at him. "What's the meaning of all this, then, you big pansy?" The words were jovial, but Jack's tone was soft.

The ends of Edmund's mouth curled upward slightly. "Hullo, blot."

Jack grinned. "You sent for me, like a serving wench?"

Edmund started to answer, but whatever he was going to say was lost in a spasm of harsh coughing. Jack quickly poured a snifter of brandy and helped his friend to sit up, holding the balloon glass to his bluish lips. After a moment, Edmund nodded. "Thanks." He coughed once more, then cleared his throat. "I asked you to come because I've need of a friend of yours." Jack's dark brows drew together, but he said nothing. "You've possibly heard that I've had to declare a quarantine of Port Royal."

Jack nodded. "Aye, I heard." He hooked an elegantly carved chair with his foot and spun it around to sit backwards on it, facing the bed.

Edmund eyed him. "But you think it was a poor decision."

"Didn't say that."

Edmund snorted. "You didn't have to. I know, any hint of weakness and we are fair game for scum like Nicodemus to set up shop. But I've lost nearly twenty men at the garrison alone, Jack. This fever, whatever it is, must be contained."

"No argument there," Jack conceded. "Still and all, though, Ned, with Nicodemus only a day or two's sail away…"

"I know." Edmund nodded slowly. "And I can't release the men to go after him now. Which is where you come in."

Jack chuckled. "Last I heard you were trying like fire to talk me out of doing anything rash."

Edmund smiled ruefully. "And here I thought I was being so diplomatic."

"Aye, you were, Ned. 'Tis what set up me suspicious nature."

Edmund glanced behind Jack to the door. "Careful, Jack. You sound like him already." As though in response to Edmund's caution, the door swung open, and Annie Palmer came in, bearing a basin and rag. She gave Jack a smile as he got to his feet. Annie bent to kiss Edmund on the forehead, causing Jack's brows to rise to his hairline.

He looked from the dark-haired beauty to his prostrate friend. "Have I missed something?"

The oddest look passed over his friend's face, as though there was something Edmund wanted to say but could not. After a moment the look passed. "I have asked Mrs. Palmer to become my wife, and she has done me the great honor of accepting."

Jack stared, his mouth hanging frankly open. "Ned…"

Edmund grew haughty. "So Will is the only person capable of great passion conceived in a moment? Or do words of congratulation fail you? It's funny… 'John'," and Jack was appalled at the venom dripping from Edmund's voice, "I don't recall you at a loss for words before."

Jack blinked and recovered. " 'Tis only because I've not had such happy news laid at my feet for some time," he lied through his teeth. 

The Palmer smiled her serpent's smile, extending her hand for his kiss, and Jack's skin prickled. He took the proffered hand and saluted it quickly, resisting the urge to wipe his lips after. Strange warmth blossomed in the region of his chest, spreading over his skin like a brittle shell. 

"When do you do the deed?" Jack said cheerily, to cover his discomfiture.

Annie blushed demurely. "As soon as possible," her alleged lovesick swain replied coldly. 

Jack cocked a brow at him. "Will can stand up for you, then, if I'm not back," he said, just as coldly, and a flash of something like hurt appeared briefly in Edmund's gray eyes. "I'm off to do that little commission for you. My felicitations to you both," and he bowed his way out of the stifling room as quickly as he could.

~*~

"Married? After an acquaintance of a few days only? Is he gone daft?" Will asked in candid astonishment. 

"You've got me, lad," said Jack, tying his red scarf round his head. "And she's got him, poor bloke. There," he laid down the looking glass and looked up at his friend, his kohl-rimmed eyes atwinkle. "I feel more meself than I have in years."

They sat in a dilapidated shack on the edge of the secret cove where the _Pearl_ sat berthed, bobbing placidly in the deep turquoise water. Jack shoved aside the remains of his hasty meal and contemplated the younger man. "You'll be all right?"

Will gave a nod. "Aye. I don't know about Edmund, though. 'Tis all too sudden. This marriage – I don't mean to seem unkind, but Mrs. Palmer seems to me an uncongenial choice. And to be trying to start a life together now, with so much death about…" He shrugged and let his shoulders drop.

Jack grinned, his teeth glinting gold in the fading sunlight. "Aye, 'tis strange. You are being kind, however. Me, I'd have called her a witch."

~*~

The _Black Pearl_ nosed out toward open water with her captain at her bow, majestically cresting the waves crashing against her hull with ease. The spray she threw up spattered Jack's face, and he grinned at the welcome baptism.

He loved these short-lived forays on the sea. Living on land had its advantages, he mentally acknowledged, picturing that young scamp of a Lizbet. But on the whole no man lived who was better suited to life aboard the rolling deck of a schooner, yawl, or ketch; or, in a pinch, a catboat, even (Jack chuckled in fond remembrance) a rapidly sinking one. Yo ho indeed.

Jack swaggered abaft and swung his way up the companionway to the helm. Gibbs greeted him with a grin. "Anchor's a-trip and aweigh, Cap'n; th' Pearl's heading bluewater wi' a bone 'n 'er fine teeth." 

Jack gave him an answering grin as he took a firm grasp on the wheel. "Run up the burgee, Gibbs, my good son, and tell the crew to light the braziers. We sail by the lee to the Venezuelan coast."

"Aye, sir." Gibbs gave a mock-military salute.

Jack chuckled, shaking his head, setting various beads and ornaments to tinkling gaily. "Who've we got on board, mate?"

"Skeleton crew, as ye ordered, Cap'n."

"Arms?" Jack squinted into the distance. He hadn't told Gibbs what they were after, but he'd wager his hat the pirate knew anyway.

"T' the teeth, Jack. Plenty o' powder and shot fer th' long nines, if ye decide t' sink the _Seraph_ 'stead o' takin' her." Gibbs sobered. "Better fer us all if ye do, I reckon. I hear that there Nicodemus is as cruel an' depraved as any man who e'er walked the earth, God save us."

"Aye." Jack gave a nod. "You hear anything else?" he asked casually.

Gibbs thought about it. "That 'e's a blackbirder o' the worst kind, crammin' 'is hull full o' humanity an' chucking upwards o' half overboard on the way to th' slave market." The older pirate shook his grizzled head in disgust. "They say the pong o' the _Seraph _is strong enough t' smell ten mile away."

Jack raised his brows. "Do they now? That's interesting." He chewed it over again. "That's a very handy piece of information, Gibbs. Very."

Gibbs nodded. "One more thing, Jack."

"Aye?"

Gibbs tapped the side of his nose. "Just this: nobody seems t' know which slave market Nicodemus takes 'is cargo to." 

Jack turned that over in his mind. No slave market? "A private enterprise, then?"

Gibbs nodded with the shadow of a grin. "What I'm thinkin'."

~*~

Will turned and took Rose's hand to help her up the small hill that led to the Port Royal cemetery. "All right?" he asked with a sad smile, bending to look into her pretty face.

" 'Twill be, someday, or so the chaplain said," sighed Rose with an attempt at a smile. A tear slid down her cheek. "Oh, dear," she said, trying to make light of it. "I promised myself I wouldn't, for Bill would not want me to."

Will tucked her slim hand into the crook of his elbow. "Come on, little mum," he said, his tone light, his heart heavy. 

__

"Will, lad?"

Will put down his hammer and wiped his brow with his forearm, a smile for his father on his face. "Aye?"

Bill had come into the smithy diffidently, his manner so awkward that Will automatically crossed to the cabinet and poured him a tot of rum. Bill had downed it in a gulp, causing his son to raise his eyebrows in surprise. "I've – I want to – I need t' ask ye summat, Will."

Will hitched up a hip and leaned on his anvil. "Anything, Father. There's nothing wrong, is there?"

Bill rubbed at his upper lip. "Not to say wrong, son. Only I been thinkin' – well, best to just come out with it. What would 'ee think if I were t' go a-wooin'?"

That was easily the last thing a thunderstruck Will had expected. "Wooing? Who?"

Bill became very interested in studying the silver chasing on a decorative dagger Will had hanging in his rack just then. "Miss Rose," he said, clearing his throat.

Will blinked. "Ned's Rose? That Rose?"

"She's not kept by the man," Bill bridled. "They're friends, allus have been nothin' more than."

"Are you sure?"

Bill nodded. "I've her word fer it, 'n' his Lordship's 's well." He shrugged. "Edmund said he'd no idea of wooin' her himself, else the deed would've been done 's soon 's ever we got back from Tortuga that time. But I figgered bein' in the position he's in, he can't look at a maid what's in the position Rose's been in, if you take my meanin'."

Will sifted through that speech. "Meaning Edmund can't afford to woo a – a working girl?" He snorted. "If he loved her 'twould make no difference to him. Look at Jack."

Bill stared at his son, clearly startled. "Meanin' Edmund loves Jack?"

"No," said Will when he could get his breath back after laughing so hard he had to sit down. He wiped his streaming eyes merrily. "Meaning Jack's past doesn't matter to Ned, because they've become friends. Ned's not pining away for Rose and unable to marry her because of her past. If he's said he's not interested, you can take it as written."

Bill heaved a sigh that sounded a lot like relief to Will. "Aye, well, clearly the man's no manner of taste at all. So pretty as she is, and kind. Brave, to be savin' his life. A fine girl, Miss Rose."

Will looked carefully at his father. "And you don't care about… um…?"

Bill could snort too. "Not hardly, lad. I'm an ex-undead pirate. Lucky I am if she don't hold my past against me."

"In that case," Will clapped his father on the shoulder with a smile, "all luck to you, Father. I like Rose a great deal."

He watched the joy dawning on the older man's face and knew he'd been right to say it. "Aye, lad. Rose is a fine lass indeed. Make a man a fine wife someday," Bill had added under his breath, but Will had heard him.

Will had let Rose go ahead to the grave to give her a moment alone with her memories. So caught in his own memory of a happier time was Will that it took a scream from Rose to bring him out of his reverie. He ran the rest of the way up the hill, stopping short with a half-formed epithet on his lips.

The grave and coffin were freshly opened, and completely empty.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: To answer some concerns that have been raised: I have found conflicting information on the real Annie Palmer, with some sources claiming French ancestry for her, others saying Scottish. I have chosen to go with Scottish for the extremely feeble reason that I did the French thing in the last fic.

Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 5

"Hard a-port, gents," Gibbs called, his eyes steely as he swung the wheel of the _Black Pearl_. "Careful now. Mr. Swale, scramble aloft 'n' keep a sharp eye fer white water."

Jack ambled up the companionway with a characteristic lurch. "I gave no orders to change course, Gibbs," he called, frowning. "Oy!" he added, grabbing at his nose. "What is that bloody pong?"

"Th' _Seraph_, t' my way o' thinkin'," said Gibbs, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Stench o' blackbirdin'."

"Christ!" said Jack, and Gibbs nodded in emphatic agreement. Death and excrement and blood… not a pretty smell, but a distinctive one, if you happened to be looking for a slave ship.

A piercing whistle from Swale made both men look up. The young pirate gestured to a commotion in the water several yards off the port bow. Gibbs cursed succinctly and Jack slid down the gangway rail and ran forward, grabbing a gaffing hook on the way. 

"Luff 'em, boys," the captain cried, and almost instantly the sails were flapping ineffectively, letting the _Pearl_ slow. Gibbs tied off the wheel and ran to help Jack, holding his captain's belt firmly while Jack leaned far over the gunwale.

It was all Gibbs could do not to vomit at the sight before them. Bodies filled the immediate area: half-naked, starved, beaten. Slaves, poor devils, ill or rebellious. It wasn't unusual for a captain to rid himself of excess cargo this way; everyone knew the insurance on a merchant ship would cover goods lost at sea, not in port. And in blackbirding there were always goods lost, one way or another.

Sharks were at play among the dead and the near-dead alike. Jack was using the gaffing hook to tug at the bodies, trying to find any alive before the sharks got to them, but was having no luck, and Gibbs could hear his mood darkening as the gruesome task went on.

Another whistle from Swale got their attention. This time the sailor was gesturing off the starboard bow, and Gibbs and Jack ran to investigate.

"Alive, thank God," said Gibbs quietly as Jack hooked gently under the fellow's arm. He was alert enough to grab hold of the pike, and Jack pulled him quickly over and up; between him and Gibbs they had the man aboard easily.

Two of the crew lifted the weakened slave and carried him gently to the captain's cabin under Jack's barked orders, while he and Gibbs scoured the area, in vain. 

Jack tossed down the hook with a curse and a sigh. "Have Ana see to him. And follow that pong. Nicodemus will pay. Tonight."

"Aye, Cap'n," Gibbs nodded.

~*~

Ana left the cabin quietly, closing the door gently behind her. Jack was at the helm; she climbed up to join him. "Any sign?" she said.

"Aye," he nodded. "On the horizon. We're hove-to for a bit."

That was odd. It wasn't like Jack to sit and wait. "Why?"

Jack took out his spyglass and peered through it. "Becalmed, they are. Or… I don't know, love, and I don't like what I don't know. So we go soft and canny." She nodded; after a moment he looked at her. "How's the lad?"

She folded her arms. "Asleep. Couldn't get a word out of him. I don't think he speaks English."

Jack nodded as though he'd expected as much. "Keep him comfortable, poor devil."

Ana smiled involuntarily. She rather liked this side of Jack. Of course it was usually after seeing this softer side that the rotten scallywag inevitably talked her into things she generally regretted. 

And then she thought about the still, dark form in the bunk below. 

Probably not this time.

~*~

Jack clambered up the rigging and hooked an arm around the gaff. "Anything?"

Swale nodded. "Aye, Cap'n. She's adrift fer sure. Sails a-luff, rudder swingin' free."

Jack pursed his lips. "Then we'll board her. May be more of those poor souls aboard."

Night wings in swiftly on the open sea; Jack directed the _Pearl_ toward the drifting ship just as the sun sank below the yardarm. The sky was streaked with purple and black as she drew up along the _Seraph_.

Jack rubbed his nose. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something… The rest of that thought was chased away as a chorus of moans rose from the hold of the slave ship. "Gents! Grapples over; we're boarding!" In a normal tone he added to Gibbs, "Just you and I to begin with, eh?"

Gibbs nodded. "Aye, soft an' canny, Cap'n."

Two lines arced through the air, one aft and one forward, securing the gunwale of the abandoned ship to the side of the Pearl. Jack gave his mate a nod, and he and Gibbs swung across.

~*~

Anamaria leaned against the frame of the door to the captain's cabin, trying to keep an eye on her patient and on Jack at the same time, and failing. She opted to concentrate on the slave instead, for the time being; at least he was stationary. He was also, she mused, extremely large. And brawny. He wore only a loincloth, and a blanket she'd covered him with; Ana studied the ropy muscles stretched over the big man's frame. _The blackbirders must have had a time keeping that one down_, she thought. _He'd tower over even young Will, and he's no midget._

Without warning the young black man sat up, the light blanket falling to his waist. He looked around, blinking owlishly, as though uncertain of his bearings. Ana glanced back over her shoulder, couldn't see Jack or Gibbs, and gave it up as a bad job, crossing instead to the bewildered slave.

"It's all right," she said gently. "You're safe." He stared at her blankly, and Ana sighed. She'd been right; he clearly had no idea what she was saying. She endeavored with gestures and expression to reassure him and got a weak smile in return.

Swale came in, giving their passenger a nod. "They've boarded," he said shortly to Ana. "Just the two of 'em. I don't like it."

Ana snorted. "You want to try to tell him anything? All you'll get is 'I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?' like it's some kind of armor." She huffed out a frustrated sigh. "Idiot." Swale looked affronted, and in spite of herself Ana laughed. "Not you, Swale. Sorry."

She saw, rather belatedly, that her guest was following the conversation much too closely for a man who spoke no English.

"I beg your pardon," he said. His voice was deep and resonant, his accent polished. Ana stared, her mouth dropping open as the tall slave went on. "Did I hear you correctly? You said 'Captain Jack Sparrow'?"

Ana closed her mouth with an audible snap. "I did," she said acidly, "not that I expected you to understand me."

He smiled, showing large, white teeth. "My apologies. On some occasions I have found it expedient to appear stupider than I hope, in fact, I actually am." Beyond muttering under her breath, Ana said nothing, merely staring at the man, her arms folded across her chest. He held out a hand. "My name is Zaid," he pronounced it zi-yeed, "and you are?"

__

For all the world as though we were at one of those bloody posh parties in Port Royal Jack makes me go to, Ana thought, taking his large hand. It folded around her slender one like a stuffed ham. "Anamaria," she said shortly. "What about Jack?"

Zaid swung his legs off the edge of the bunk, nearly taking out the captain's desk along the way. "I trust we are a goodly distance from the ship _Seraph_?"

"No," she replied, and dodged as Zaid got rapidly to his feet and ran to the door, narrowly avoiding several lanterns hanging from the beams overhead. Ana followed. "Hey! Come back here! What do you think you're – " but before she finished the man had crossed the deck in about three giant steps, grasped a rope, and swung out toward the _Seraph_.

There was sudden thunder from below, and the world shook, and tilted.

~*~

Jack whirled at the sound of cannonfire below decks, looking back toward the shuddering _Pearl_. Astonishment gave way to horror as a large shape hit the deck nearby with an unceremonious thud, while Jack's ship heeled hard away from the _Seraph_, pulling the grappling ropes taut. He had time to take two steps, no more, before he felt the unmistakable chill of a pistol muzzle at the base of his neck. He froze, his dark eyes wide.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the deck, and a figure came into Jack's line of sight. He was a big man, with skin as dark as the pitch Jack used to seal his hull, and from what Jack had heard, a soul nearly so.

"Well now," said Nicodemus around a cheroot clenched in his yellow teeth. He poked Jack in the chest. "Ye don't look so dead t' me, Jack Sparrow." He chuckled. "Not yet, anyway."

"Captain Jack Sparrow," said Jack automatically, his eyes on the _Pearl_.

"Is that so?" Nicodemus chuckled. "Captain o' what, I wonder? Cut 'er loose, gents, we've got what we came fer," he added. Jack made a feint toward his beloved ship as the crew of the _Seraph_ hacked through the grappling lines and the _Pearl_ heeled even more ominously. In a flash there was a pistol in each of Nicodemus' hands: one aimed at the center of Jack's forehead, and the second…

Ana had appeared over the gunwale of the Pearl, a musket to her shoulder. "Let them go!" she cried. The ball from Nicodemus' pistol caught her before Jack realized the man had fired. Anamaria fell into the ocean without another sound.

Her name caught in Jack's throat and he swallowed, hard. From the corner of his eye he could see Gibbs, surrounded by an array of muskets and swords. The lump on the deck, which Jack realized was their erstwhile rescuee, was hustled to his feet. Jack himself was surrounded by more of the _Seraph's_ crew.

The slave caught Nicodemus' interest. "Ah," he said, puffing out a huge cloud of smoke. "I wondered where ye'd got to. Jumped fer it, did we?" The hulking slave made no reply, bowing his leonine head meekly and holding out his wrists for shackles. "Tch," said Nicodemus in obvious disgust. "Take the brute below, and the old man." Gibbs bridled at the description but was ignored. 

Nicodemus turned his attention to Jack. "My lady will be pleased t' see ye again, Captain Sparrow."

"What do you want with me?" Jack asked angrily, struggling against the two men who held his arms. "Who are you talking about?"

The captain of the Seraph laid a long finger against his nose and took a puff from his cheroot. "Now that, Jack – I may call ye Jack, mayn't I? – that would be tellin'. I've spent too much time getting' hold of ye t' spoil things right off."

Jack glared at him, his mind ticking over quickly. "You were after me? Those poor souls in the water – "

"Bait, Jack." Nicodemus grinned. "Ye can't catch a shark without chum, eh?"

__

Oh, my God. Anyone who'd do something like that, just to catch one man… it boggled Jack's mind. "What does she want of me, this lady of yours?"

Nicodemus thought about it. "Let's jus' say – she wants ye t' give her a Hand." He threw back his head in glee; the laughter was still echoing as Jack was shackled and pushed into the crowded hold.


	6. Chapter 6

Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 6

Jack contemplated the underdeck of the _Seraph_, trying to ignore the pain in his wrists where the shackles chafed. It was the blow to his pride that really hurt. "Gibbs?"

The older pirate coughed and answered. "Aye, Cap'n?"

"What the hell just happened?"

Gibbs essayed a low sigh. "Which thing, exactly?"

Jack looked at him, just able to make him out in the dim light of the hold. "Any of it. It doesn't make sense to me, Gibbs."

"Nor t' me, Cap'n, 'n' that's God's truth. We was careful enough fer any campaign. I dunno how it went so wrong."

It was Jack's turn to sigh. "I s'pose Ana's dead."

"Aye." Gibbs nodded. "Looked t' be."

"And the _Pearl_ sunk."

"Barrin' a miracle." The mate nodded again morosely.

Jack slammed his fist against the wooden hull in frustration, setting his chains to rattling fiercely. "They jammed a ruddy cannon right against my _Pearl_'s hull and blew her open while I was prancing about the deck looking to be a hero," he said bitterly. "It's no more 'n I deserve. Me, a bloody hero." He huffed out a disconsolate breath. "Been consorting with the gentry for too long, Gibbs. Young Will's begun to rub off on me."

Gibbs patted him on the shoulder. "Ye'll land on yer feet, Jack. Ye allus do."

The pirate captain shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "It's got to end sometime, some way, Gibbs. Maybe – "

Gibbs cut him off. "Maybe nothin', Jack. Ain't nothin' can keep Captain Jack Sparrow down, ye 'member that." He grinned. "Savvy?"

Jack grinned back, feeling immeasurably better for the older man's faith in him, though the situation hadn't changed. "Aye, Gibbs. Savvy."

A slight commotion among the slaves crowding the hold caught their attention; the huge black man they'd pulled from the sea was making his way over slowly.

"Forgive the intrusion, gentlemen," he began as soon as he got close enough to whisper. "I apologize for interrupting your discourse, but I believe we have many things to discuss."

Jack blinked. Gibbs gaped. "How's yer what?" the latter said, his eyes round.

After a moment, Jack chuckled. "Ana said you spoke no English."

"Sounds t' me like he don't," Gibbs grumbled.

"Now, Gibbs," said Jack, trying not to smile. "What's on your mind, er…?"

"Zaid," the big slave supplied gravely. "And you are Captain Jack Sparrow. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance."

Jack took the hand Zaid offered him, watching in fascination as his own hand was completely engulfed by the other's fist. "How d'you come to know of me, Zaid?"

Zaid shrugged. "I am afraid I have been indulging in the most unmanly avocation of eavesdropping on our host," he said. "You are the prime topic of conversation: where you might be, what steps they should take that would be most likely to attract your attention."

"Really?" Jack stroked his beard. "That's interesting."

"I rather thought it might be." Zaid gave a nod. "Ultimately they determined on the course of action they eventually took, resulting in your capture."

"Aye." Jack frowned again, giving the huge slave a long, assessing look. "What were you doing, anyway, coming back over to the _Seraph_ after I went to all the trouble to pull you out of the drink?"

There was a pause. An embarrassed one, Jack rather thought. "Attempting to warn you. Vastly ineffectively, as it turned out." Another pause. "I feel quite foolish about my failure."

"Now, now," said Gibbs companionably, having evidently decided to like Zaid. "'Tweren't yer fault. Yer swing coincided with that cutthroat Nicodemus scuttlin' the _Pearl_. Anyone'd be thrown by a thing like that."

Zaid sighed. " 'Tis kind of you to say so."

"So," Gibbs went on, watching the large black man roughly the way Jack imagined a cobra would stare at its charmer, "how does a – a – a fine man as ye are come t' find yerself among such… rough company as this?"

Zaid's expression grew faraway. "I was adopted as an infant by a lonely missionary's widow living near our village," he said, his deep voice warm. "She was a loving mother, if an exacting schoolmistress. I had the very best of everything available to her, and the greater part of that was her exceptional mind." He shrugged. "She died some years ago. I have been something of an itinerant schoolmaster myself, trying to open the ways of my people to the European world. Unfortunately," his large hands clenched, "the majority of Europeans think of us as no better than animals."

Jack tucked his shackled hands behind his head and leaned against the hull wall. "Aye, well, the majority of Europeans are jackasses in most ways, Zaid. Don't be taking it personally."

That got a rumbling chuckle out of the big African. "I do try not to, Captain Sparrow."

"Then they shouldn't take it personally when you stick a boot up their collective arse." He closed his eyes and yawned, lacing his fingers across his chest. "And call me Jack."

Gibbs scratched at his chest, then again at his leg. "Vermin," he muttered. 

Jack raised his dark brows without opening his eyes. "That's a hell of a way to talk to your captain."

His mate snorted. "Ye're confusin' me with Anamaria." Jack looked at him then; they both grew sober at the mention of her name.

"He'd bloody well better not be," came a strident whisper from the direction of the stairs.

Jack sat straight up, dark eyes wide. "ANA!?"

"For God's sake, Jack, could you shout it any louder?" A panting, soaking wet, slightly bloodied Anamaria made her way carefully through the throngs of abused humanity to her captain.

Jack struggled to his feet, ignoring the shackles. He threw his bound hands around her, tugging her close. "Thank God, lass. I thought you dead."

She managed a thin smile, though her eyes were worried as she searched his face. "Just a graze. I thought the same about you, for a minute there."

Gibbs was patting her back with more enthusiasm than finesse. "How on earth did ye get aboard, lass?"

"Cannon port," Ana said shortly. "Same one they used to blow a hole through the _Pearl_." She looked back at Jack, her expression softer now. "She's not sunk yet, Jack. I saw her limping away. If Swale can make it to a beach, careen her somewhere…"

"A mighty slim chance of that," said Jack with a careless shrug that probably didn't fool anybody. 

Ana disentangled herself from Jack's chains with some difficulty. "What's this all about, then? What's Nicodemus after?"

Gibbs answered. "Jack, accordin' to our friend here," he indicated Zaid with a jerk of his head.

Ana turned slowly and venomously looked the hapless Zaid up and down. "Oh, it's you, is it? My hero."

The large man hunched his shoulders as though trying to make himself smaller. "I really do apologize most profusely for not speaking sooner; it just seemed that immediate action was prudent, and—"

"And," Ana shot back at him caustically, "now I've been shot, tossed in the ocean, and am stuck having to rescue everybody from their own folly. Again." She dealt out glares to all and sundry, the impact of which was somewhat lessened by violent shivering and a jaw-cracking yawn. "Fine. Someone wake me when we're about to make berth. Think you _men_ can handle that much?" 

Still mumbling grumpily, she shoved Jack back down against the hull and proceeded to curl up on him as though he was a large and slightly uncomfortable pillow, giving his chest a couple of punches for good measure. With a diffident smile Jack placed his arms gently around her and lay one lean cheek against the top of her head.

Zaid looked at Gibbs, clearly nonplussed. "Quite a spitfire, eh?" he whispered.

Gibbs grinned. "That's nothin'. Ye ought t' see her when she gets mad."

~*~

Will blinked in surprise as the door to the Governor's mansion swung open. That wasn't Edmund's butler.

"May I help you, sir?" The middle-aged black man wore Edmund's livery, but it hung off him. The man was far too thin, with a hunched bearing bespeaking years of fear and abuse. Will frowned. Edmund didn't keep slaves, everyone knew that.

"I am Will Turner," he said firmly. "I'd like to see the Governor, please."

"Have you an appointment?"

__

What the hell? "No, I do not. I've never needed one." Will raised his chin, annoyed. "Will you please let the Governor know I'm here?"

The slave bowed, his very posture sad. "The Governor is too ill to see anyone, sir." He began to close the door, but Will stopped it with his palm, his dark eyes furious.

"Listen here," he said angrily, "I don't know who you are, but I do know the Governor would not want me turned away. Where are Edmund's regular staff?"

The slave flinched. "Gone, sir."

Will shoved the door open and stalked in past the man. "That doesn't make any sense. Gone where?"

"I'm afraid we had to send them away," came a voice from above, a low, feminine voice with just a hint of Scots. Will looked up to see Annie Palmer descending the staircase gracefully. "This disease has been so taxing on my poor husband. I could not risk a relapse."

Will stared. "Did you say – your husband?"

She colored delicately, her eyelids fluttering. "Of course we had to keep the ceremony most quiet, due to darling Edmund's ill health." She reached the landing and approached Will, looking up into his face with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I assured him you would understand."

Will struggled to keep his expression composed. "Of course. My felicitations to you both." He took her hand and kissed it, wondering at the small gasp she gave and the speed at which she jerked her hand free. He walked easily toward the staircase. "I'd like to congratulate Ned too, if I may…?"

And somehow she was at the bottom of the stairs before him. "He is resting now, I'm afraid. He'll be desolated to have missed you."

__

Really. Will folded his arms and looked her full in the face. "In that case, I can wait. I'm sure it's not good to upset him so early in his recovery."

That shook her. Annie's eyes narrowed. "Of – of course. Please, come into the drawing room; we can have some lemonade while you wait. It may be a while," she added, watching his reaction.

Will smiled. "I can wait as long as needed." His smile grew wider as instead of returning his smile, Annie visibly gritted her teeth.

"Very well." She preceded him into the drawing room and took a seat on a settee, patting the cushion next to her. Will took a chair. Annie pursed her lips. "May I ask you something, Will? I may call you Will, mayn't I? I know how close you and dear Edmund are." He inclined his head and waited. She smiled demurely. "Like brothers, are you not?"

"Yes."

Annie nodded. "May I ask you as a sister, then – what do you want?"

He raised his brows in surprise. _Nothing like getting right to the heart of the matter._ "I've been worried about Ned, and there's been no word for a few days, so I wanted to see how he is."

She laughed fetchingly. At least Will was sure she intended to be fetching. "Ah, no, you misunderstand me. Of course you are welcome here as you ever have been." Annie patted his arm, being careful, Will noticed, to touch only his clothes. "No, what I mean is – what do you want from life?"

He couldn't imagine what she thought she was getting at. "I don't know what you mean."

"Now, Will, my dear, as Edmund is older than you, you must allow me to guide you as an older sister would do." She gave another musical laugh. "Can you not tell me of your ambitions, what you strive for, what you long for?"

__

What a bizarre woman. Still and all, she was Ned's wife (good luck to him); so Will thought about the question. Finally, he shrugged. "Nothing. I have all I need."

Oddly, that answer seemed to please her. "Surely there must be something you want."

Will shook his head. "Were you to ask are there things I wish had happened differently, of course my answer would be yes. But as for what I have? I want for nothing. I have my daughter, I have Ned and John, I have my work and am respected for it. Truly, there is nothing I want."

Annie studied him, a speculative look on her face. "What of your wife? If you could see her, beyond the veil? Perhaps be touched by her?"

He smiled gently, remembering… and changed the subject. "Did you say there was lemonade?"

She gave a decisive nod and got to her feet, her skirts rustling. "Edmund!" she called.

Will stood hastily, confused. "Mrs. P – Norrington?"

Annie looked at him haughtily. "You wanted to see him; so you shall." The baize doors to the drawing room swung open, and there stood Edmund, slightly disheveled, his expression emotionless. "We leave for Rose Hall immediately," she snapped to the Governor. She jerked her head at Will. "Bring him."

And Edmund pulled a pistol from behind his back, aiming impassively for Will's head.


	7. Chapter 7

Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 7

A breeze blew crisp and clear across the turquoise waters of the Caribbean. Hatless, Emmeline Norrington sat on the starboard companionway of the HMS _Triton_, watching little Lizbet Turner carefully instructing a well-loved rag doll in the alphabet. 

Emmy was bored and annoyed, though her mother had taught her well, and no sign of her irritation showed on her countenance. Yet inwardly she stewed like a well-cooked rabbit. Four days they had been at sea, and never left sight of Jamaica's coast. Four long, balmy, windswept, interminable days. Two ships had passed them: the ghostly _Black Pearl_, and another, with an angel at the prow. And here they sat, sailing to and fro, serenely killing time.

She'd tried to speak with the captain, to no avail. She had even, embarrassingly, tried to presume upon prior acquaintance, for this was the same captain who had brought her from England on that ill-starred voyage. But all Emmy got for her trouble was a cold, "I have my orders, miss."

Orders. Emmy would have snorted had it not been so unladylike. They were going exactly nowhere, and she wanted to know why.

Lizbet's nanny, Belle, came out of the cabin, a preoccupied look on her face. Young Lizbet glanced up and, after a long look at her caretaker, quietly gathered up her doll and went to Belle, with the oddest expression on her little face. Emmy forgot herself and frowned. The child looked far wiser than her years. 

Emmy had felt like this before, back in school: as though everyone else knew something of which she was unaware. She hadn't liked the feeling much as a child. Today, Emmy was damned (beg pardon, mother) well going to do something about it.

Belle seemed to focus on her as she approached, her expression softening into a submissive smile. Emmy wasn't fooled. That woman was anything but servile, regardless of the charade she chose to play.

Belle gave a small curtsey. "'Tis a lovely day, miss."

Emmy cut to the chase. "Oh, stop that. 'Tisn't convincing in the least." To her surprise, the dark-skinned woman's deferential façade gave way to a real smile, and a peal of clear laughter. Emmy found herself laughing too. "Much better. What is happening, Belle? The atmosphere on this ship is so thick with intrigue I could cut it with one of Mr. Turner's swords."

Belle sobered, gathering Lizbet into her skirts. "I don't know, and that's the truth, miss. Something happens, but not here; something… gathers."

Emmy folded her arms. "Could you be more specific?"

Belle shrugged. "Something comes, for le Capitaine and –" Here she broke off and looked down at the child. "You goes to the cabin, ma p'tite. I joins you there in a moment."

Lizbet looked at both women, that disturbingly wise expression still in place. "Something is coming for Papa, I know. It already took my grandfather, I think. That is why Papa looked so sad on the wharf." She beckoned Emmy with her forefinger, and Emmy knelt to bring her face level to Lizbet's. "There's something wrong with Godpapa, too. Did you see it?"

Emmy felt a shiver of foreboding run up her spine, but she nodded. "I think, Lizbet, that I did. He was very… cold, wasn't he? That's not the way I remember him."

Lizbet nodded, clearly satisfied. "I'll go to the cabin now, Belle. But we must get grandfather back and save Papa and Godpapa, mustn't we?"

Belle smiled at her and sent her off with a pat. Emmy watched the child close the cabin door. "Is she often like that?"

The nurse looked at her. "She was born to this world in sorrow, miss, and touched by her mother from the other side of the river." Belle shrugged. "I has learned to listen to her."

Emmy hugged herself, suddenly chilly. "Belle, when you say something comes for le Capitaine, you're thinking of someone other than the captain of this ship, aren't you?"

Belle gave her a sideways glance and about three-quarters of a smile. "You got someone in mind, miss?"

Emmy chuckled, rubbing her arms. "You know perfectly well who. Lord John Finch, the Demon Pirate."

Belle gave a satisfied nod. "I knew you was clever."

"You give me too much credit," Emmy demurred. "Ned wrote me all about it years ago. I've known almost as long as – well, as you have."

The other woman looked at the deck, chuckling. "You sells yourself short, I think. Miss," she added.

This time Emmy did snort. "That's not convincing either. Please, Emmy will do."

"Aye then, Emmy," Belle gave her a pleased nod, then sobered. "We needs to get off this ship. We needs to get back to Port Royal, to them that stayed behind."

Emmy let out a trembling breath. "I wondered about that."

"I knew you was clever."

~*~

For the first time in years Will Turner found himself unable to comprehend what his eyes were telling him. It was impossible that Edmund stood there with a pistol aimed at Will's head, ready to shoot him.

"Ned? What are you doing?"

There was no response, just that strange, blank look. Annie Palmer laughed. "You may tell him, Edmund."

Edmund blinked. "I… I can't stop her, Will." The contrast between the anguish in Ned's voice and the utterly impassive expression on his face was bizarre. "God help me, I can't control my own body. She – somehow she – for God's sake, Will, don't let her make me kill you!"

Will took an angry step toward Annie, halting when he heard Edmund thumbing back the hammer on the pistol. "What have you done to him?" he growled, his blacksmith's hands curling into fists.

Annie smiled. "Made him mine." She chuckled. "I really wouldn't provoke him, young William. Make no mistake, he will kill you, whether he wants to or not. He's quite a decent shot, I understand." Annie studied her nails nonchalantly. "Bind him, dearest."

The pistol never wavered as Edmund jerked the bellpull from the wall and advanced toward Will. Annie came forward and took the weapon from him; Ned roughly jerked Will's arms behind him and began to secure them with the heavy silk rope. "I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly in the younger man's ear, even as he pulled the knots painfully tight. "I'm sorry."

Annie eyed them. "That will be enough, husband. You need not say anything more."

Will lunged for her but Ned caught him, forcing him to his knees. "Damn you!" he shouted, his dark eyes afire. "What do you want with us?"

She smiled, tapping the pistol thoughtfully against her chin. "I have what I want from Edmund. Position, wealth… he really makes a marvelous husband, don't you think?" Annie came closer, placing the barrel of the weapon under Will's chin and forcing him to look at her. "From you… oh, I can think of many things a strong, healthy, handsome boy like you could offer me." 

He spat at her feet. "I'd rather die."

In a flash the pistol was cocked and at his forehead. "That can be arranged," she said coldly.

Will bared his teeth. "Do it," he challenged, struggling to loosen Edmund's iron grip. "Do it!"

Annie's lips thinned, and slowly she brought the hammer down gently, taking the pistol away. "No, I'll not be so hasty," she said, more to herself than him. To Edmund she said, "Take him in the closed carriage." She swept from the room, pausing at the door with a triumphant smile. "I'll see you at Rose Hall, young Will."

The baize door shut behind her. Will snarled. "I'll see you in Hell, Annie Palmer."

~*~

Jack opened his eyes.

There had been a change in the wind, a subtle shift of motion under the hull below him. He moved his thumb slightly, just enough to tickle Anamaria's cheek. She woke with an economy of movement, glancing up at him.

"Coming into port, love," he said softly. "Best make yourself scarce."

Ana nodded, getting to her feet stiffly. "How long was I asleep?"

"All day and a good portion of the night, far's I can tell," Jack said with the merest hint of a grin. "You realize that means we've slept together."

"You're a pig," she replied good-naturedly. "I'll hide in the galley until it's clear, then I'll see you on shore, get you out of this."

Jack got up too and stood over her, gently taking her chin between forefinger and thumb in a gentle pinch. "You will not. Find a way to get to Port Royal, find Ned, or Will. We can't be more than two days' sail away, wherever we are. Go the garrison if you have to. Get some help."

Ana was clearly affronted. "You don't think I can save your sorry hide? I've done it before."

"Always lookin' for a reason to get your hands on me, eh, love?" Jack wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger and tugged gently. "These are deep waters, Ana. We'll need more than just luck and brass to get us through this one, I'm afraid."

She looked at him for a long time, her lips twisting slightly.

Jack knew what that meant. "Spit it out, love. Nobody's listening but me."

Her eyes were huge, her fingers nervous as she plucked at a button on his shirt. Times like this it was hard to remember she was a member of his crew, and therefore off-limits.

"What if I can't get back in time?" Ana finally murmured, her voice low.

Jack was torn. Tease her a bit, or keep his manhood intact? Given the lack of dodging room and the seriousness of their situation, he plumped for the latter. "You'll do fine. Off you go. And be careful, will you?"

She gave him a tight smile and threaded her way through miserable humanity to mount the ladder toward the galley.


	8. Chapter 8

Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 8

Jack…

The singsong voice was in his head, not his ears.

Jack…

It frightened him, made him want to run, to scream, to cry for help… but he was mute. 

I know you can hear me, Jack. Open your eyes, there's a good boy. 

His eyes snapped open at the thinly veiled command, though the rest of his body was weighted, unmoving. The figure stood in front of him, dark and small yet somehow threatening, as though it would insinuate itself under his skin and burn until he was ash inside. 

You know me, don't you, sweet Jack? 

He could make out eyes, black as sin, hard as onyx, deep and desolate as an unheard prayer.

I know you, he answered in his head, unable to move his lips.

The figure held out a bottle. A wayward shaft of light caught it, making it shimmer and glow with… life? Jack could feel his heart thumping slowly, each beat reverberating through his chest.

It's time, Jack. Time to make you mine. 

Long, white fingers pulled the cork from the bottle, and Jack felt himself tearing slowly from his body. His heart slowed.

Th-thump.

Th-----thump.

Th---------

"Jack! Cap'n! Wake up, damn ye!"

Somebody was shaking him roughly, slapping him across the face none too gently. Jack blinked. "All right, Gibbs, all right," he managed through his rattling teeth. "Leave a bone or two moored in place, can't you?"

"Thank God." The grizzled pirate sat back on his haunches and watched his captain through rheumy eyes. "Ye were havin' a fit 'r somethin', Jack. Stopped breathin'. Scared the life out o' me, ye did." He wiped a grimy, shackled hand over his face, slumping back against the hull. "Don't 'ee be doin' that again. I'm gettin' too old."

"Sorry, I – " But the particulars of the dream had faded, and Jack shrugged, vaguely on edge but not sure why. "Sorry."

"Where is your intrepid friend?" That was Zaid, peering curiously through the darkness of the hold.

"Ana? Overboard by now, I'm hoping." The ship gave the peculiar lurch and scrape that indicated she'd just come into dock. Jack got to his feet, with an assist from the large black man. "And on her way to Port Royal, with any luck."

Gibbs gave a nod. "Shouldn't take her more'n a day, by my reckonin'."

Jack frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Ah." Gibbs beckoned to him and pointed to the hull. "Found me a chink here, good enough t' take a bearin'. Reckernized the coast, I did, afore th' light went."

Jack pressed his face to the filthy wood and squinted through the crack Gibbs indicated, but it was too dark to see much more than some flickering torches and the weathered wood of marine pilings. "So where are we?"

Gibbs rubbed his nose. "Sorry, Cap'n. I plumb fergot t' say. We're back to Jamaica."

~*~

"'Tis kind in you to see me so late, Mr. Weston." Rose sat in the seat he indicated, settling her skirts.

Weston smiled across the desk at her. "'Twas no inconvenience on my part, Miss Rose. I have been keeping late hours since the Governor became ill."

She looked at her lap, feeling ashamed and shy, as she had ever since Bill died.. "I am grateful you don't share the Governor's opinion of me."

Weston looked bewildered. "He's said naught to me but that you're a fine young woman, miss."

Rose glanced up quickly. "I – are you sure?"

Weston came around the desk and took her cold hands in his warm ones. "What's put something different into your head?"

"I heard him. The day Bill died. He said – he as good as called me – oh, it doesn't matter." Rose sniffed loudly. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Weston. I seem to be all waterworks these days. Has there been any word on the Governor's condition?"

"His wife sent word today that –"

Rose got to her feet, galvanized. "His what did you say?"

Weston blushed. "His wife, miss. The former Mrs. Annie Palmer."

Rose narrowed her blue eyes. "Fast work, that. What did she say?"

Weston cleared his throat. "I think it could fairly be described as a whirlwind courtship, yes. The Governor is making a slow recovery; Mrs. Norrington has taken him to her plantation in Montego Bay to recuperate."

She folded her arms. "Married. And him ill, and Bill not even cold in his grave. And now Bill's gone… Have you found anything?"

The lieutenant governor shrugged. "I'm sorry, no. Truth be told I'm not even certain where to begin looking. 'Tisn't as though we have any medical establishments, and though there are pockets of voodoo worshipers – "

"Vodoun."

"Excuse me?"

Rose looked at him steadily. "'Tis called vodoun, not voodoo. And they don't muck about with human remains. They respect the dead."

Weston gave her a skeptical and apologetic smile. "Not what I've heard, miss. There are tales of reanimated corpses. Zombies, they call them."

Rose snorted. "Nonsense. Are you saying Bill climbed out of that grave on his own?"

Weston nodded. "Does sound a bit silly, doesn't it?"

She took her seat again. "I know what you're talking about, the legend of the zombi, though they aren't supposed to be dead, only in a deathlike state, their souls held captive…" Rose huffed out a breath. "Stories to frighten children, like the bogey man."

He eyed her. "You seem to know quite a bit about this… vodoun."

"You forget where I came from, Mr. Weston. Tortuga is full of the followers of vodoun."

Weston nodded. "Is there anything more I can do for you, Miss Rose? The hour grows later."

It was her turn to blush. "Forgive me. I am abusing your good nature by presuming on your time." Rose held out a hand. "You'll contact me or Mr. Turner if there's any word?"

Weston bowed. "Upon the instant. You have my word."

~*~

The slaves were unloaded onto a private pier, Jack was interested to see. He exchanged a look with Gibbs. Private enterprise, indeed.

The greater bulk of the slaves thus imported were hustled off toward a small group of cabins not far off the beachhead; Jack, Gibbs, Zaid, and a few others were prodded toward the main house, Nicodemus himself among the attendants.

It was a large house, neither so large nor imposing as the Port Royal Governor's mansion, but nothing to sneeze at. They could see a large galleried veranda stretching across the length of the building. Centered above that was a small balcony, which would be a prime place from which to view the goings-on in the yard below. 

And unsavory goings-on they'd be, thought Jack with an involuntary grimace as he passed two pair of stocks and a large whipping-post. There were the blackened remains of a fire at the base of the post, on the opposite side from the blood and the hook; and the residue of some sort of circular design beside it.

Jack raised his eyebrows. A poteau-mitan. Now that was something he hadn't seen in… oh, twenty years or better. And he'd never seen one that was so clearly unsanctified. Infernal, in fact.

Nicodemus nudged Jack in the back with the tip of his cutlass, drawing blood. "Move along, Sparrow. Mustn't keep a lady waiting."

Jack growled, but he wasn't fool enough to argue with a well-honed blade.

They were led down a set of stone stairs to a passage under the house, where an open area had been hewn from the soft rock. There was an iron cage set to one side, and into this Gibbs and the rest were ushered, though not without a struggle.

In the far wall was a heavy wooden door, and it was through this that Nicodemus escorted Jack and Zaid, followed by several of his fellows. 

Immediately they got into the room, the heavy door slammed shut with an echo. In the center of the floor was a brazier, the coals within red-hot and aflame; and of all horrors, a brand lay nestled among them. 

Jack reared back wildly. "No! Damn your eyes, you'll not put any man's mark on me!" 

He fought like a man possessed, clawing, kicking, writhing. Four of Nicodemus' crew grabbed him then, holding his arms and legs, while Nicodemus gave him a heavy clout across the head. Jack saw stars, sagging in his captors' grasp. 

"No man… owns Jack Sparrow…" he managed between gritted teeth

"True enough," said a voice from the shadows beyond the brazier. "But as you well know, sweet Jack, I am no man."

Jack's skin crawled. "Who – who are you?" he rasped.

"You know me, don't you, Jack?" the voice said mockingly. 

His knees gave out. "Impossible…" he whispered.

Annie Palmer stepped from the shadows into the dancing light of the fire. "Time to make you mine, Jack."


	9. Chapter 9

Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 9

Emmy sat down on the narrow wooden plank that served for a bench in the small rowboat that had been moored to the side of the HMS _Triton_. She dusted off her hands with a grin for her companions. "This is exceedingly satisfactory. Thank you, Lizbet."

The small girl smiled sunnily up at her in the light of the lantern that sat at her feet. "You're very welcome. Papa told me my mother did it once."

Emmy tilted her head and looked up at the long rope made of braided strips of petticoat and skirt that hung from the cabin window of the _Triton_. "A very effective trick. She would be proud of you for remembering it."

Belle scooted over to make room for Emmy next to her. "I think, Emmy, if you takes one oar and I the other, we can make good time to shore. And you, ma p'tite, you keeps the lantern hid, all right?"

There were a few exciting moments as Emmy carefully made her way to the seat next to Belle; but once down, she and the nanny found an easy rhythm, pulling together. 

"Where will we be landing, do you know?" Emmy asked, panting slightly.

Belle grinned at her. "No idea." She sobered, looking over her shoulder toward shore. "There be a house there on the hill; you can see the lights. And cabins down below." She shook her head. "Slave cabins, I has no doubt. Some kind of plantation, then."

Emmy made a moue of distaste. "I dislike slavery both in concept and in practice. But perhaps the people who live there can offer us assistance to return to Port Royal." She shrugged. "It can't hurt to ask, at any rate."

~*~

Ana floated quietly under the dock, the white of her shirt effectively camouflaged by the huge piling in front of her. She saw the prisoners unloaded, their bare feet plodding listlessly over her head, followed by a pair of feet as big as oars and two pairs of familiar boots. Her dark eyes narrowed, but she bided her time.

Port Royal could wait until she was sure there was nothing she could do herself, she thought. Ana waited until she was sure she was clear, then waded carefully to shore, hugging the shadows.

There were cabins near the beach a short way off; a silhouetted crowd was being herded that way. Ana nodded to herself and crept toward the main house, looking for any sign of Jack.

There he was, being taken down those steps. Ana's lips thinned in irritation. 'Twould be nigh impossible to break him out of a dungeon. She moved quickly back toward cover, thinking carefully as she circled the area.

Like Gibbs, Ana had recognized the coast of Jamaica as they approached; by her reckoning 'twould be a fairish journey to attempt on foot. Even if help was to be had, she'd return no sooner than the following day, and that was not acceptab—

Her eyes went wide. Surely that was a whipping post, not a poteau-mitan, and yet – Ana approached the clearing cautiously. _Aye_, she thought. This was indeed a peristyle, a vodoun temple. But not like any she'd ever seen. This one was for Petro, the left-handed magic. The way of evil. 

Ana shivered. There was no time to go to Port Royal, or anywhere else. She had to get Jack away from here. Now.

~*~

Jack shook his head, disbelieving. "You can't be her. 'Tis impossible."

Annie smiled. "Unlikely, perhaps, but clearly not impossible. As you see."

"She – you – no. She was a woman grown when I was just a lad. And Maman killed her. I was there. I remember," he protested.

She nodded. "Aye, Jack, you were there. You were mine, for a little. And now you'll be mine again." Annie glanced at Nicodemus. "Mark him. And then bring him to me." She disappeared into the shadows again; after a few moments they could hear a door being shut.

The four crewmen tightened their grasp, dragging Jack forward, toward the brazier. Jack struggled and cursed, his eyes wild. 

"You'll not do this!" he spat out. "Damn you all!" 

They silenced him by forcing a piece of wood between his teeth and tying it secure with a rag around his head. Jack's arms were jerked behind him and a large plank was slid between them and his torso, pulling the shackles taut across his abdomen. Nicodemus hit at the backs of Jack's knees with an iron bar he'd picked up from somewhere, and Jack went down hard. 

He roared with rage around the wood clenched in his jaw. His captors shoved his shoulders forward, so that Jack's face was nearly in the hot coals. He began to sweat, his breath coming harshly through his nose.

Nicodemus lifted the brand, twirling it in front of Jack's eyes. "Scared, are ye, Jack Sparrow?"

__

Hell yes. Jack watched the brand as Nicodemus lifted it up and out of sight.

He felt the fabric of his shirt give way as they grasped the collar and tore it down his back, exposing a shoulder blade. Jack could feel the heat coming off the glowing iron as the metal hovered over his shoulder.

"Heh," said Nicodemus, and brought the brand down.

There was a searing explosion of burning agony as Jack's skin blistered and blackened and shriveled; he bit down on the wood hard, screaming his throat raw against the excruciating torture.

Below him, the small muslin bag he wore fell abruptly from the tatters of his shirt and dangled in the brazier, beginning to smoke.

Nicodemus stepped back and Jack was dragged to his feet. They untied the rag and he spat out the wood, breathing hard. The muslin bag swung against his chest, still smoldering slightly.

The captain of the _Seraph_ turned to Zaid. "Ye're next, laddie," he said, leering. "'Tis lucky ye are, t' have the mistress notice ye. Means she's got somethin' special in mind fer ye."

The crewmen pulled an unresisting Zaid toward the brazier. Meekly he knelt for them, clasping his hands in front of him. They looked at each other and shrugged, discarding the plank and the wooden gag.

And then Zaid gave Jack the merest glance from the corner of his dark eyes. 

Jack tensed.

Nicodemus leaned over the huge slave, the branding iron in his hand.

With a sudden roar Zaid erupted like a small volcano, jerking forward the legs of the tripod on which the brazier was balanced and leaping over it as it crashed to the floor, igniting the hay strewn there. The astonished crewmen jumped back from the blazing coals. Zaid spun neatly and lashed out with one callused foot, kicking the scorching brazier through the air toward Nicodemus and his cohorts in a huge shower of sparks. 

Jack took the opportunity to fling the chains of his shackles around the throat of one of the crewmen and twisted sharply, snapping the man's neck. He put his boot at the base of the new corpse's spine and shoved the dead weight into the other two facing him, knocking them to the blazing floor.

The door to the smaller cell burst open; several more of Nicodemus' crew surged forward, swords at the ready. Behind them Jack could see his bo'sun and the others, still imprisoned.

"Gibbs!" he shouted.

"Get out o' here, Cap'n! Get out if ye can!"

An enormous brown hand covered the top of his head and pushed Jack down as a massive fist followed it, turning the face of the sailor nearest Jack into a red mess. Jack turned to see Zaid looking down at him.

"Time to go," the huge slave said with a nod. He bent and grabbed the iron bar Nicodemus had dropped and gave an eager attacker a thwack.

"Aye," said Jack shortly, scooping up the plank, the end of which was now ablaze, and swinging it in a wide arc as he and the black man backed away. "I'll be back for you, Gibbs!" he shouted, throwing the blazing lumber toward the enemy. 

Jack then had the disconcerting experience of being picked up and tucked under a mammoth arm as though he were no more than a small valise, as Zaid ran down the passage into which Annie Palmer had disappeared.

They found another heavy wooden door a short distance away; Zaid dodged through and slammed down the bar.

He wanted to protest, but Jack couldn't find the breath as Zaid pounded through the tunnel, carrying Jack under his arm. There seemed to be several forks and twists, all of which the African navigated at top speed and at random, as far as Jack could tell, effectively confusing the path of their flight. 

Zaid was not an ungraceful runner, but he was preternaturally large, and Jack's head began to feel as though it would rattle off momentarily and roll away. At last they burst from the dank underground into the middle of a forest, and Zaid slowed long enough to put the pirate captain down.

Jack gulped in air, bent double, his palms on his thighs. "Damme, lad, you nearly bounced me to death." He reached out a hand and clasped the larger man's forearm. "I'll not forget what you've done for me, Zaid. You have my thanks."

"I am only sorry I could not act sooner," Zaid rumbled quietly. "If they had taken me first you would not have had to bear such pain, but I could think of no way to encourage them to do so without arousing their suspicions."

"Aye." Jack gulped a bit more, then prodded the other man in the back. "We'd best keep moving." His companion nodded, and they sought the refuge of the shadowed forest surrounding Rose Hall.


	10. Chapter 10

Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 10

On Tortuga, the pale and watery moonlight failed to penetrate the deepest shadows of her inland forests, where the crickets grew silent as the chanting drums grew louder. A blaze leapt and spun in the small peristyle hidden in the dark center, the flames licking at the poteau-mitan that towered above the upturned faces of the faithful.

A white-haired woman, seeming older than time, sat in the center of a veve of her own design. She rocked gently, her lips forming words that none but she could hear, her sightless eyes locked on the dancing fire before her. 

Mothlike ashes, white as her streaming hair, flitted to and fro in the heat. Mixed flavors of wood smoke, seaspray and beach rose hung in the heavy night air, pressing close to her coffee skin. The drummers were mere shapes in the shadows, the sound rumbling low across the damp earth like a gathering storm.

Across the sea the wind licked at a pair of white curtains, blowing them inward, across Rose's wooden bedstead. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks red; and on the pillow next to her face a man's white handkerchief lay clutched damply in her fist.

__

They danced, and the day danced with them.

It was the happiest of weddings; everyone she loved was there, holding her hands, kissing her face, murmuring congratulations as she tried to hold them all close.

And then he was there, his handsome face alight, his dark brown eyes warm on her skin, on her hair. He smiled down at her, tilting her chin up with his fingers so her mouth would be easier to get at. His kiss was glorious, as it had been the first time, and Rose knew without a doubt that she was home, finally.

With Bill.

Her lips formed his name even as she slept; and the wind caught the faint sound, whisking it away.

__

She turned; where had he gone? Rose called his name, ran through deserted, unfamiliar halls, her dress tripping her. The light fled before her.

There was no answer.

"You has to keep him here, child. Keep him with you, else you lose him to the dark."

Rose whirled. She knew that voice. "How?" she cried out. "How can I?"

A shadow moved… there! Slipping into that doorway ahead. Rose ran forward, skidding on the polished floor. Her frantic fingers were grasping futilely at the lock, scratching at the door. 

"Let me in! Bill!"

"You has to bring him out. He has to choose life, Rose. You has to make him choose life." Somehow Maman was there, but it was not the Maman Rose knew. She was young, vibrant… beautiful. Her white hair flowed over her dark shoulders, and her eyes – her eyes were too bright to look into for long.

"I don't understand. Please…" Rose went to her knees, suddenly bowed by the weight of memory. 

Maman smiled. "Have faith, child. Your Bill, he been called by the dark twice now, and this time he choose death, unless you takes the choice away. You finds him. You frees him, and you takes the choice out his hands."

"Where?" Rose was frantic as oppressive darkness gathered around her, threatening to close her in. "Where is he, Maman?"

There was an eldritch chuckle. "You looks, and you waits… I shows you the way."

Rose shivered and blinked, wrapping her arms around her wet body. She blinked again, shaking her head. Where…?

Yellow streetlights flickered through the rain that dampened her cheeks and soaked her nightshift. Her feet were cold, her legs muddy. Rose looked about, bewildered. Where was she? How had she…?

This was Bill's house. Rose wiped rain from her cheeks with the heel of her hand. Will's house, she corrected herself. Bill didn't live here anymore.

Rose shivered, hard. 

She'd stopped by earlier to see Will, to tell him of her encounter with Weston, fruitless though it had been; but the blacksmith wasn't home. Rose had assumed he was visiting the Governor and had gone on her way. The house looked completely deserted now. Will must be spending the night at the mansion, with Edmund and his new bride. She gave another involuntary shiver at the thought.

Then she noticed the light in the stable.

For a man who loved the sea, Bill was crazy for horses. Had been, Rose reminded herself. He'd taken some of his – what was the word? Swag, that was it. Some of his swag from the Isla de Muerta, and built a little stable, and bought himself a horse. He'd named the creature Kelpie, of all foolish things. A smile played about her lips as she remembered the elder Turner's delight in the little mare.

Why was there a light burning, though? Was she sick, and Will caring for her? Was – horrible thought – was someone trying to steal her?

Not if Rose could help it. Her brows snapped down in a frown, and without thinking further about it Rose ran to the stable, her wet nightdress stuck to her legs, her bare feet slapping on the puddled cobblestones that lined the street. Cautiously she opened the door, peering inside.

Nobody leapt out at her, but the interior of the little stable was warm and smelt of hay. With another shiver Rose slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

A gentle whickering beckoned her. "All right, Kelpie, love," she whispered. "'Tis only Rose. You know me, pretty one." 

The little mare tilted her head to look at Rose through great brown eyes. 

Rose smiled and reached to pet the velvet nose. "'Tis the middle of the night, love. Why've you a light burning, then?" 

Kelpie nudged the young woman's shoulder and shifted restively. 

"I expect you want to know why I've come to you in a wet shift. I'd give a deal to know that myself." Rose rubbed the mare's glossy black neck. "You miss him too, don't you?"

The horse gave a soft whiffle.

The candle sputtered and flickered. Kelpie pawed at the gate to her stall, neighing. Rose drew back in surprise, then went to open the stall, thinking to comfort the horse.

Instead of the hard carved surface of the gate handle, Rose felt something soft beneath her fingers. There, carelessly laced through the rough-hewn wood, was a single pink rose. And as she watched in disbelief, the rose bloomed, withered, and died away… and then bloomed again.

__

I shows you the way…

A hasty search of the smithy house soon revealed Belle had left nothing behind Rose could wear, so the young woman settled for an old pair of Will's breeches and a shirt that had been hanging in Bill's wardrobe. At least they weren't wet. She fiddled with Bill's largish saddle and then gave it up as a bad job, giving in to the sense of urgency that had settled in her belly and was increasing with each second. She was needed, somewhere, of that much Rose was sure. The rest would become clear when it did.

Still barefoot, Rose led the anxious mare out of the stable, carefully closing the door behind them. Grasping a handful of mane, she threw her leg over Kelpie's strong back and leaned close to the horse's neck.

"Go, then. Take me to where I'm to be," she whispered. 

The little mare took off as though shot from a cannon.

~*~

Belle's steps slowed as the main house came into view. Emmy looked at her, then down at Lizbet, whose dark eyes had gone wide. "What is it?" the young Englishwoman asked.

Belle shook her head. "Something… not sure." Lizbet whimpered softly.

Emmy knelt and took the child's cold hands in her own. "Lizbet?"

"This is a bad place," she whispered, sidling closer to Belle. "I'm scared."

"But we need to get back to Port Royal. These people can help us." Frustrated, Emmy kept her voice reasonable in the face of the girl's obvious distress. With a sigh and a nod, Belle picked up the shaking Lizbet and held her close as they took a few more steps. Just the other side of the thicket they were in, Emmy could see a large clearing at the back of the house, with a tall post and – and – 

She cast a glance at Lizbet, whose face was hidden in Belle's shoulder. The nanny met Emmy's gaze and nodded. "The child is right. There be no help here. This is a place of evil."

Evil indeed. Emmy's lips thinned as she looked again at the stocks, the whipping post, the dark stains on the ground around the post. 

As they stood there a fierce wind came up suddenly, snatching Belle's head wrapping and pulling it free, tugging at Emmy's skirts and loosening her hair, tumbling young Lizbet's curls. The child raised her head suddenly, then rested it on her nanny's shoulder again as though exhausted. Which, Emmy reflected, she probably was. All the more reason to get back to Po—

A sudden commotion from the back of the house caught their attention. Hordes of filthy, disreputable men erupted from some unseen place below the house, shouting, cursing... Emmy winced even as Belle covered her charge's ears. 

A woman's voice rose shrilly above the rest. "Find them!" she screamed. "Kill the black one, if you like, but Sparrow's life belongs to me!"

Emmy's eyes grew round. Sparrow? Jack Sparrow?

And then she saw who the woman was. Involuntarily Emmy gripped her hands together, the knuckles whitening.

Belle drew her back farther into the shadows. "I has to get the child away from here," the nanny whispered urgently. "Come, quickly."

Emmy shook her head. "I'm going nowhere," she said tightly. "Go, get Lizbet to a safe place. I'm going to find out what is going on." 

Belle studied her for a minute. Emmy notched her chin up, unconsciously imitating her brother at his most resolute. Belle gave her a nod. "You be safe yourself," she said, and melted into the forest, holding Lizbet close to her side.

It seemed like hours before the furor in the clearing died down enough, or moved far enough away, that Emmy felt she could move with impunity. Jack, if it was Jack they were searching for, had led the chase into the forest that surrounded the far side of the plantation, well away from where Emmy crouched. And for that the young Englishwoman was devoutly grateful. The rough and evil-looking men chasing Sparrow frankly terrified her.

However, it was clear she'd learn nothing merely sitting here. Taking her courage by both hands, Emmy got slowly to her feet, ignoring her cramped muscles. Nothing untoward happened, nothing exploded or shouted in discovery, and she let out a small sigh.

She considered her options. After what Belle and the little one had said, there was no way Emmy was going to set so much as a foot in that clearing, even if she thought she could do it without discovery. And the main house offered little cover that she could see. Emmy nodded. Back down to the beachhead and around by the cabins, then.

She took her time picking her way through the forest back the way they'd come: the moon was well overhead by the time Emmy emerged on the beach where they'd left the skiff. She shook out her voluminous skirts, which seemed to have picked up half the detritus of the forest floor. No fear that anyone looking for her would have any difficulty achieving their object, that was for certain. 

The cabins lay a short distance away, beyond the short pier, which seemed more or less deserted. After a long moment's consideration Emmy shucked her petticoat and waded into the gentle surf, electing to swim her way around the imposing ship that rocked in berth there.

The water was warm enough, but the weight of her dress nearly pulled her under more than once as Emmy struggled to stay afloat and move quietly. Eventually she staggered onto the beach beyond the ship and sat heavily in the sand. Lord, but fabric weighted one down. No wonder people drowned from going overboard.

She made her way carefully toward the cabins, staying out of the light from the fire burning inside the enclosure. No one seemed to be about; thank goodness for that. 

A flutter from behind one of the small cabins caught her attention. Emmy squinted at it. Laundry, hanging on a line to dry.

Emmy looked down at her dress. Dry. Now there was a concept a girl could appreciate.

She squelched stealthily toward the clothesline, and was just reaching up to unfasten a pair of breeches when a hand fell on her shoulder.

Emmy's heart stopped briefly, and sputtered to life again as she turned to see an equally bedraggled, dark-skinned woman looking at her appraisingly. "Stealing from slaves, are we?"

Emmy looked the woman over. There was something familiar about her… Belle. She looked a bit like Belle. Suddenly Emmy knew who it was. "I prefer to think of it as borrowing. And from the look of things, you're just put out because I got the breeches first." Emmy held out a hand. "I'm Emmeline Norrington. You're Anamaria, the lady pirate, are you not?"

Ana's eye narrowed. "I thought there was only the one witch here. How do you know of me?"

Emmy grinned and took a shirt from the line, handing it to the other woman. "I've a talkative brother, at least in his letters." Her expression sobered. "Your friend Jack Sparrow is in trouble hereabouts. I expect that's why you're here."

"Aye." Without false modesty the pirate doffed her wet shirt and shrugged on the other. "My question is, why are you here?"

Emmy shrugged and tugged down another shirt. "There was something not quite right about the ship we were on, and her captain was behaving in an extremely suspect manner. Belle suggested we leave." She looked about for a place to change, shrugged again, and stripped off her sodden dress. "Belle's taken Lizbet to safety."

Ana folded her arms, visibly relaxing a bit. "My question stands."

Emmy finished buttoning the breeches and tied the shirt together. "Something is drastically wrong here. It began on the ship I came over in; I intend to find out what it is. And to stop it if I can."

Ana rolled her eyes. "Oh Lord, another one." She chuckled. "All right, lady. You're Norrington's sister, true enough. We stick together, huh?"

Emmy flashed her a smile. "Aye."


	11. Chapter 11

Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 11

Annie Palmer was in a towering fury. "This is absolutely unacceptable," she hissed, leaning close to Nicodemus' face. "I had both means and method here in my grasp, and thanks to your incompetence, twenty years' watching and waiting is to go wasted? I think not." She turned away, a hand on her stomach, drawing in deep breaths through her nose. "Find Sparrow. Bring him to me." Annie gave the captain of the Seraph a darkling stare, crossing to him and cupping his jaw in her palm. She spoke gently, almost caressingly, reaching up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "Or I shall make a meal of you, and devour your very soul." Her pink tongue snaked out and trailed its way up Nicodemus' jaw. 

Nicodemus blanched, bowed, and left in haste. Will felt slightly sick. He'd no doubt whatsoever that hers was not an empty threat.

He'd heard the same stories everyone else had, of vodoun priests capable of stealing the soul of a man and trapping it forever while the body was used as a tool for crimes of the most foul. Zombies, they were called. He glanced at Edmund, at the queer, impassive expression on his face. Like a child's slate that had been wiped clean for the next day's lessons, Will thought, and the thought made him shiver. 

The young blacksmith winced behind his gag as iron scraped against the raw skin on his wrists. They'd exchanged the bellrope for shackles on arrival here at Rose Hall. The tall black man who'd held a sword to his throat while Ned locked the manacles in place was not merely a pirate, but employed by Annie specifically to attract the notice of Jack Sparrow's particular brand of high seas retribution. She'd taken a certain glee in announcing that she'd known all along Jack wasn't killed on Tortuga; Annie was adept at detecting supernatural activities, and there hadn't been any in this part of the Caribbean for nearly a decade. So she'd concluded that the sightings of the ghostly Captain Sparrow were the result of a hoax, and had set out to trap him.

But Jack was free. That was important. Annie needed Jack, somehow, that much was obvious. But she didn't have him. The thought made Will feel much better. Surely help was on the way. 

Now Annie was looking at him. Speculatively. Will felt his skin begin to crawl as Annie began to smile.

"Bring him," she barked at Ned, who roughly shoved Will toward the door. "We'll have Jack Sparrow yet."

~*~

Zaid inserted his iron bar into the loop on Jack's remaining gyve and gave it a mammoth twist, shearing off the link. "Faulty ironwork," he said with a nod. "It does not handle torque well."

Jack shook the iron cuff to the ground where it landed on the others with a clank. "Praise be for faulty ironwork," he said with a grimace, rubbing his raw wrists. "Those were effective enough, faults and all." He looked upward, assessing the nearest tree. "That'll do." Jack swung himself up on the lowest branch and nimbly climbed out of sight.

"What are you doing?" hissed Zaid, looking about himself nervously.

"Taking a bearing," came the reply. After a moment, Jack dropped lightly to the ground. "They're still searching, but too far inland. We can swing around toward the beach and come up the back of the house." He strode off.

After one astonished look, Zaid hurried after him. "I don't suppose you'd care to share the reason we'd be making this particularly suicidal gesture?" he inquired mildly.

Jack grinned without looking at the gentle giant. "Told Gibbs I'd be back for him," he said. "No time like the present, as me gray haired old mum used to say."

A rumbling chuckle issued from the general area of Zaid's chest. "You haven't got a gray haired old mother, have you?"

"Not that I know of," Jack answered with a wave of his hand. "I mean obviously I have one, or did have. Otherwise I'd hardly be here now. Though whether she is or was gray-haired or not is open to debate. In any case, I'm sure she'd be a wonderful woman, full of folksy wisdom and charm. Like her doting only son." He paused long enough to sketch a bow, his hand on his heart. Zaid snorted.

A shape darted out from the shadows with a hiss. "Jack!"

The pirate clutched at his chest and staggered back, his eyes wide. "Ana! What the flaming hell –" His eyes narrowed. "I told you to go to Port Royal. Dunno if you've noticed, love, but confidentially, this isn't it."

Ana thumped him in the chest. "Stop fooling around, Jack. We have to get out of here."

"Aye, we do, which is why I'm just on my way to collect Gibbs – who the bloody hell is that?!"

A second shape had materialized in the darkness behind Anamaria. Emmy leaned forward with a grin. "'Tis only me, my lord."

Jack rolled his eyes in disgust. "Marvelous. Another Norrington. Where did you sprout up from? I thought we put you on a boat to Aruba."

Emmy nodded. "I thought so too. Evidently the captain disagreed, for the ship is just off this coast and has been for days. We grew weary of his company. So we decided to leave."

"We?" Jack asked sharply. "Never tell me you brought the little one ashore to this accursed place."

"Belle has her, is taking her to safety."

Jack nodded. "Good woman, Belle." He turned to Ana and poked a finger at her. "You, however, are a harpie and a shrew, disobeying a direct order like that. I ought to have you keelhauled or something. If you've looked around here at all, woman, you know bloody well this is an unhealthy place to be." 

Ana bridled, but before she could say anything Emmy interrupted, hands on her hips. "So everyone keeps saying, and I find myself less than enthused about the place myself. Can someone tell me why, please?"

Ana nodded. "'Tis a place of the left-handed magic, Petro. Evil ways, practiced by some believers of vodoun. There is death here, and worse."

Emmy blinked. "Yes, that would seem to cover it." She looked at Jack thoughtfully. "Why you, then? Ana told me they came for you. Why?"

Jack shrugged, refusing to meet her frank gaze. "My magnetic personality, I expect. Come on, Zaid. You," he pointed at Ana again, "stay here. That. Is. An. Order." He waved his hands aimlessly in the air. "Somewhere about, anyway. Don't let them find you, obviously. But stay away from that peristyle. Savvy?"

Emmy's eyes narrowed as Jack and Zaid disappeared into the gloom. "Are we going to listen to him?"

Ana shot her a look. "Oh, aye. We'll be somewhere about. Come on." With that she boldly followed Jack's trail.

~*~

"Jack Sparrow!"

Jack ducked into the shrubbery. Damme, that had been close by. Where was the witch? He popped his head up to locate her. There she was, in the middle of the peristyle, by the poteau-mitan, or what passed for one in this forsaken place. Amazing how voices carried when one was in a bit of a panic.

Annie Palmer snapped a riding crop against her leg. "I know you're near, Jack. You carry my mark. I'll find you eventually, and you will be mine."

He growled softly. 

"I tire of this game, Jack." Annie gave someone a nod, and Jack bared his teeth at the sight of Ned dragging Will toward the poteau-mitan. The blacksmith was gagged and heavily shackled at wrist and ankles. "Perhaps we will change the game a bit," Annie purred. "You know this part, I know you do. This is the part where you give me what I want, or I take your friend's life."

Jack clenched his jaw as Ned, at a signal from his mistress, tore Will's shirt from him and hung his wrists from a hook on the poteau-mitan, facing Annie.

"Very nice," Annie said, running the tip of the riding crop down Will's chest. "A pity to mar such a pretty thing. However, needs must as the devil –" Annie grinned. "As I drive, actually." She raised her voice. "And to add some piquancy…"

Torches circled the peristyle casting an eerie ring of flickering light. A figure stepped forward, carrying a thick blacksnake whip.

Bootstrap.

Jack felt sick as Bill's plea to be burned suddenly had a context.

Bill unfurled the long weapon at Will's feet. The blacksmith struggled futilely, his shouts muffled by the gag around his mouth. Annie folded her arms, her face a study in triumphant satisfaction.

"Well, Jack?" she called.

Zaid grabbed for his arm, but Jack shook him off, wanting desperately to vomit, or scream, or something. Wishing he had a pistol. Or a brace of pistols.

But the only weapon he had was himself. Jack got to his feet and stepped into the circle of light. "I'm here, damn you," he growled. "I'll do what you want."

Annie smiled as several of the Seraph's crew ran forward to surround and bind Jack, forcing him to his knees. "Aye, Jack. You will." She turned to Bill. "Flog him."

Bill raised the whip; and Jack could see the glimmer of tears trailing down his old friend's face as the lash came down.

~*~

Kelpie skidded to an abrupt halt, nearly tossing her rider over her neck to the ground. Rose slipped quietly from the mare's back and rubbed her cheek against the creature's velvety nose, whispering her thanks.

She looked around. The trees were tall and eerie, their broad leaves weaving shadows to form a canopy of darkness that surrounded her. Rose could smell smoke on the wind, and there was an orange glow flickering through the underbrush. She picked her way carefully toward the light, ignoring the sting of sharp detritus on her bare feet, an odd thrill of dread in her stomach.

Rose leaned against the broad trunk of a tree, peering from behind. Her blue eyes went wide. A peristyle, the circle of torches, Annie Palmer a Petro priestess… She nodded. Edmund's sudden illness and marriage fell into place. Her nails dug into the soft tree bark as Will was dragged forward, and then… and then…

What did one do when one's deepest desires and darkest fears collided in harsh reality? Rose struggled not to scream, to run forward, to strike the witch down, to fall to her knees and kiss the earth, or curse it. She tasted a metallic tang and realized she'd bitten her lip hard enough to bleed.

Her dreams had been echoes of reality. Bill lived.

A gentle hand fell on Rose's shoulder, and she nearly leapt from her skin, spinning around. Maman smiled, her blind eyes glinting white in the reflected light from the fires that burned beyond. "You found him," she said approvingly. "Now you frees him, and you keeps him. 'Tis a simple task, but a hard one, Rose."

"Maman," Rose panted, trying in vain to slow her racing heart. "How do you come to be here?"

The old woman shrugged. "I was called. And," another smile played about the crone's wizened lips, "I been waiting for this day. I is glad you is here, _cherie_. You is a good girl, you deserves to start again."

Rose blinked back tears. "But… how can I fight this kind of evil? What do I do?"

Maman seemed to be looking beyond the girl to where the poteau-mitan pierced the starry sky. "You needs to find the vessel."

"Vessel? I don't understand."

Maman turned her attention back to Rose and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You needs to find the bottle," and she proceeded to explain.


	12. Chapter 12

Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 12

Jack braced himself as the blow tore into Will's flesh. The blacksmith lurched against the chains that held him, his dark eyes squeezed shut, his arms shaking. 

"ANNIE PALMER OR WHATEVER YOUR BENIGHTED NAME IS!" roared Jack. 

The witch turned to him with an amused smirk as the blacksnake whip struck Will a second time. "Annie will do, this life. You had something you wanted to say, Jack? Beg for your friend, perhaps?" Her lip curled. "So predictable. Go on," she added to Bill, who raised his arm again."

Jack bared his teeth. "Stripe that lad a third time and you might as well kill me, witch, because I'll not be helping you to find the Hand or any other thing on God's earth."

Annie held up a hand and Bill halted. She faced Jack, pursing her lips. "So you know what I want, then."

He gave her a feral smile. "I'm daft, woman, not a fool. I know what you're after. And I know you need me a damned sight more than I have any use for you. So either you let the lad go, or you spill my blood and end this charade."

"Tempting, Jack, believe me." Annie gave a slow nod. "However, what you say holds the ring of truth. Which is a pity, as it spoils my fun. Still, time enough when I've the Hand in my grasp." She sighed. "Take him down."

Edmund stepped forward and released Will from the hook that had held him upright; the blacksmith sagged to his knees, shackles dragging in the dirt. Blood dripped slowly from his chest to the ground.

Annie grabbed a fistful of Jack's matted hair and jerked his head back, forcing him to look up at her, exposing his throat. "You haven't got it all your own way, Sparrow. As it happens, I need young William as well. And I have more hostages of varying sizes just offshore, on the _Triton_." She released him. "Just so you don't forget which of us holds the upper," she giggled like a grotesque schoolgirl, "Hand."

Jack growled. "Why him?" 

She gave him a look that made him not at all comfortable. "Jealous, my Jack? William there is rather a special case. Touched by those beyond the shadow, armored by love that's greater than death… do you know," Annie added conversationally, "I can't even touch his skin, he's so spiritually pure?"

Jack tested his bonds surreptitiously. "I know. Annoying, isn't it? Me, I think purity's overrated."

Annie gazed at him speculatively. "And then there's you," she went on, tapping her chin. "I don't affect you, do I?"

"Aye, you do." He grinned, though it did not reach his dark eyes. "You make me sick, though not quite like Ned and poor Bill there. More of a stomach thing, really."

She glared at him. "Watch your step, Jack Sparrow." Annie narrowed her eyes speculatively. "What I want to know is why."

He widened his eyes. "Why you make me sick? Mostly because you're a hard bint who gets off on torturing my fr —" Nicodemus backhanded Jack across the face, sending him sprawling. 

The small, charred bag dangled free from his shirt as Jack picked himself up, testing his teeth with his tongue. Annie bent and grasped the bag, jerking it free of his neck. She eyed Nicodemus, cold fury in her bearing. "Fool! Did it not occur to you to relieve him of this when you brought him to me?" She threw the small charm to the ground and crushed it with her boot. 

Annie reached for Jack suddenly, grasping his cheek roughly as he reared back in apprehension. She grimaced, clearly disgusted. "Protected still. But not forever, Jack Sparrow. You'll be mine again."

He snarled at her. "Like hell I will."

Annie laughed. "Yes, I think that's exactly what 'twill be like."

~*~

Maman made a face. "That was one of my best charms, there," she said, clucking as Rose described Annie grinding it to dust. "Ah well. Best she think he be unprotected, maybe."

Rose looked at her doubtfully before returning her gaze to the peristyle. "You mean he's not?"

Maman gave her a snort. "Now what kind of obeah you think I is, make a charm that flies to pieces when it get a little crushed?" She smiled. "For every day Jack wear that charm, he get a day without it. An' he been wearing that now for 'most twenty years. That witch, she got one long wait afore Maman gives up Jack Sparrow to her."

She gave the worried Rose a pat on the shoulder. "You go 'long, now, Rose. You knows what you needs to do. I has things to see to."

Rose stared at her, startled. "But – I don't know how, and – aren't you coming?"

Maman smiled, her white eyes sinking in a mass of wrinkles. "I be where I needs to be when I needs. You figures it out. I has faith in you." The crone paused, then chuckled. "And you tries to have faith in me, eh? That Annie Palmer, she don't know what she messin' with. But she find out." With that the old woman melted eerily into the shadowed forest, leaving a mystified Rose behind her. 

"Bloody hell, and just as if I understood anything about it myself. Just once I wish that old woman would speak plainly," the young woman grumbled, and she began to pick her way toward the water.

~*~

The bushes behind him shook slightly. From the cover of a low overhang of shrub, Zaid shot out an arm and dragged forth a really irritated Anamaria. He released her immediately, his expression abject. "I am truly sorry," the giant whispered. "I thought perhaps you were an unfriendly party."

Ana glared at him. "What makes you think I'm not?" She ducked down behind Zaid, peering over his shoulder. "Where's Jack?" For answer Zaid simply pointed to the peristyle. Ana let out a string of hissed curses that caused the huge ex-slave to sit back on his heels and stare at her, clearly impressed. She glared at him again. "What?"

Wisely, Zaid chose not to answer her, instead pulling an astonished Emmy from the same rustling bush into the protection of the larger shrub. The young Englishwoman let out a mild squeak at this peremptory treatment. "We must come up with a plan," he said in his pontifical way.

Emmy nodded, straightening her makeshift clothing. "I agree, though I also think it would be helpful if we had any idea what Annie Palmer is trying to do."

"She trying to take power that don't belong to her," came a fourth whisper, startling the other three into fits. "We gonna stop her."

Ana was the first to recover. "Maman? What the bloo – what the h – what are you doing here?" she panted.

Maman rolled unseeing eyes. "Why does people keep askin' me that? I is here because I needs to be, just like you, child. Now you gonna do what I say or not?" Ana bridled; Maman chuckled. "Not you, child. I knows you will. These others."

Zaid was still in the throes of shock, but Emmy, feeling a bit as though she had to hold up the Norrington name, rallied. Ana seemed to know and trust this weird old woman. "If you can help my brother, of course I'll do whatever you say."

Maman nodded. "Aye then. And you, boy?" Zaid managed a weak nod, still staring at the crone with something akin to horror. 

Ana nudged him. "She's blind, fool," the lady pirate hissed. "Say something."

"Oh," Zaid blinked and thought about it. "Who are you, exactly?"

Maman cackled. "Can't say, exactly. You calls me Maman, that's good enough."

Zaid looked warily at Ana and Emmy, receiving an emphatic nod from the former and a shrug from the latter. He sighed. "Why not? This seems to be a night for irrational behavior. Who am I to buck such a trend?" Zaid took Maman's hand, engulfing it in his own ham-sized fist. "What do you wish me to do?"

"Somewhere in that house there be bottles," Maman said. "You has to find them and break them. Break them all."

Ana looked at the old woman for a long time, then let out a shaky breath. "So that's what she's been doing."

"Aye." Maman nodded, turning her eerie gaze toward Emmy. "One thing, child," she added to Ana as the pirate and Zaid began to move away.

"Aye?" Ana waited.

Maman spoke without turning her head. "If you runs into Annie Palmer, don't let her touch him or you both be lost. Him to her and you to death. You got that?"

Ana wrapped her arms around herself, giving Zaid a nervous look. "Aye." They disappeared into the forest, heading toward the house.

"Now," Maman said, taking both Emmy's cold hands in her own, "you needs to be brave, child, if you wants to help your brother."

Emmy nodded. "I'm ready."

The old mambo leaned closer. "Not all the bottles in that house, child. She gonna keep some on her, the better to keep that there Jack and the boy in line. You has to find them, break the one that holds your brother. Free his soul. Then he come back to you."

Emmy stared. "I'm sorry, I don't – bottles?"

"Aye. What you know of vodoun?"

"Almost nothing, I'm afraid." Emmy bit her lip. "Are you saying Annie Palmer has my brother under the control of some voodoo curse? And I must break a bottle of some sort to release him from its effect?"

Maman patted the girl's hand. "I knew you was clever."

~*~

"All right, my girl," muttered Emmy to herself. "If you're so ruddy clever, you can just figure out a way to get on board that ship without getting murdered for your trouble." It was much easier to sneak off a boat than to sneak on one, she thought irritably, peering through the stand of trees near the end of the dock.

She should have quizzed Anamaria about it. Surely the lady pirate would know how to get on board a hostile vessel without detection. Unfortunately, by the time Emmy realized such a thing would be necessary, 'twas too late – Ana and Zaid had gone.

She ducked back a little as the tall black captain of the ship tramped by, followed by Ned and Bill Turner. These last were roughly escorting a bound Jack Sparrow and a shackled and bleeding Will Turner. 

The barest possible crew came after that – what her brother would have called a skeleton crew, had he been in any position to do so. The captain – Nicodemus Annie had called him, when ordering him to ready the ship – barked out a few cruel suggestions about ways to pass the time on the voyage to wherever they were bound, suggestions involving the four captives. For Ned and Bill Turner were as much Annie's captives as anyone. Maybe more so. 

Emmy's lips tightened. She had to get on that ship. Wherever Annie Palmer was taking Ned and the others, Emmy had to go along until she got her hands on those bottles Maman was talking about. And if Emmy herself doubted that a little broken glass could restore whatever it was that had gone wrong for them all, she refused to acknowledge it. She had to believe – it was all she had to hold on to.

A flash of white below the dock caught her eye; Emmy watched with interest as a slim figure with streaming dark hair shinned up one of the heavy ropes and disappeared into a cannon port.

Emmy gave a nod. A good idea. She looked about cautiously and crept toward the water's edge, swimming quickly along the pilings to where the figure had disappeared. Once she nearly drowned herself when Annie's skirts went swishing by just overhead; but eventually Emmy found herself at the base of the rope. She reached up and began the painful work of hauling herself up. Really, Emmy's skills of fine needlework and watercolors and playing the pianoforte hardly counted toward this sort of task.

But Ned needed her. Emmy set her jaw and wriggled her way into the cannon port, landing with a soft thud next to a scared and astonished Rose. "Hullo," she panted with a friendly nod. "Thought it might be you."

"You – what – " But there was no time for Rose to ask anything as the ship cast off. She and Emmy scrambled to find a place to hide, finally settling behind some supplies in a storeroom off the galley. The _Seraph_ began to move ponderously toward the open sea. 


	13. Chapter 13

Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 13

Funny thing, time. Tended to draw itself out interminably when you needed it to race and to telescope in on itself just as you were hoping it would spread itself a little thinner.

And the clear and obvious corollary to that bit of philosophy was, Jack had no idea how long they'd been at sea. Maybe it had been a foolish thing to do, but Annie'd given him a bottle of rum and he'd seen no reason to hang back. Wasn't as if he could escape, not while the ship was underway. Furthermore, Annie had said she'd leave young Will be; but as Jack had seen neither hide nor hair of the young blacksmith since being brought on board he'd had no way to judge the truth of that statement. And no way to make her abide by it if she'd chosen to change her mind.

So he'd given Nicodemus the bearings and upended the bottle. Oblivion had its uses.

But now… Jack tipped the bottle over and watched sadly as nothing happened. No hair left of the dog that bit him, and the mangy cur had him by the throat. The witch must have given him homebrewed rotgut, flavored with burnt sugar to fool an innocent pirate. The inside of his mouth tasted as though Port Royal's entire defensive regiment had trooped through it, using his tongue as a bootwiper. And someone had swiped his eyeballs and stuck burrs in their place.

He rested his arms on his knees and his head on his arms, ignoring the clank of shackles as they rattled. So what was it had woken him from his well-earned stupor? Jack wrinkled his brow against the skin of his forearm and tried to think, discovering that the eyeball-thief seemed to have pocketed his brain as well, leaving some sort of cotton wad in its place. With weevils.

The _Seraph_ creaked, and Jack sat bolt upright, regretting the precipitate action almost immediately as his head fell off and rolled away. Well, near enough as made no difference. He shook it judiciously, waggling it from side to side. No, still attached. Rum, hah. Calling that demonic brew rum was like referring to Annie herself as a sweet and blushing virgin, in Jack's considered opinion. Not that he'd a lot of experience with the latter.

And then it came to him that what had wakened him was the sound of the _Seraph_'s anchor dropping into the sea.

~*~

There was an animal being strangled nearby, Jack thought, but he was too busy to investigate, though the sounds were truly horrific. No, wait, that was him, still having a royal sick-up on the sand of the beach of an unnamed, uncharted island. Huzzah.

He had no recollection of being brought ashore, but the evidence was irrefutable. Jack rolled over, vaguely hoping he was rolling generally away from the mess he'd just heaved up and not into it. He did roll into something, though. Jack sorted through the possibilities and came up with boots.

Whose boots, though? That seemed to be a salient question. Jack squinted in the general direction of up. The figure thus silhouetted twisted awkwardly and offered him a hand. No, two, Jack realized. Too many fingers, otherwise. The usual limit was five or so, wasn't it? There had been that whore in Singapore… but Jack felt fairly secure in assuming that this would not be she, even if his mind had turned to mush.

"Are you all right, Jack?"

Jack knew that concern-laden voice. Will Smith. No, no. Will THE smith. Important things, the's. Crucial. He realized his mind was wandering again and screwed his eyes shut, willing himself to focus. 

"Poisoned," he said. Tried to say. The expression of absolute incomprehension on Will's face made it clear he had said something more along the lines of "Pooleylooloo". Jack tried again, enunciating clearly. "I've been poisoned, I think."

"Poisoned! Oh, my God!" Will looked about frantically. "What do we do?"

Jack leaned against him heavily, mostly because his knees gave up. "I've been doing it, me old son. Getting it out of my system, as you might say."

"Ugh." The lad clearly caught a whiff, grimacing. "Do you feel any better?"

Jack found himself sliding back toward the ground and clutched at Will with his manacled hands. "Not particularly, no, thanks very much. Where the devil are your arms? They were there a moment ago."

"Oh. They're behind me." A funny thing happened to Will's face then. Jack investigated; closer than he might have given another choice. Will reared back slightly.

"You're smiling," said Jack accusingly. "What's funny, then?"

Will grinned tightly. "You'll know when you see Annie Palmer's face."

Jack belched. "Sorry. Why? What's on her bloody dial?"

"Handprints." There was that tight smile again. "My handprints. Burned there."

"Oh aye?" Jack processed that, and nodded. "Wish I'd seen that." He looked around blearily. Ned and Bill stood guard over them a short distance away, their blank stares unwavering. "So where is our fair hostess?"

That got an actual chuckle. "Nicodemus has gone back for her. I seem to worry her; she decided not to chance close quarters in an open boat."

"Ah, lad," said Jack sentimentally, "I knew you'd learned something of pirate ways from me. I'm proud of you, and not ashamed to say it."

Will gave him a nudge. "Shut up, Jack," he said affectionately. At least Jack chose to believe it was with affection. "How did she manage to poison you, anyway?"

There was a bit of a stickler. "I – um – she – er – well…"

"Well what?"

Jack sent him a darkling look from under lowered brows. "She said it was rum, all right?"

Will stared. "She – you mean Annie Palmer gave you something, told you it was rum, and you just drank it? How much did you have?"

"The whole bottle," Jack muttered resentfully.

"The whole bottle."

"Aye, the whole bottle."

"For God's sake, Jack, the whole bottle?"

"Yes, damn your eyes, the whole bleeding bottle!" hollered Jack, and promptly fell over backwards. "You weren't holding up your end of doing stupid things, so I decided to step in for you! Fair enough?"

Again Will twisted to offer him a hand up. "Fair enough, Jack," was all the blacksmith said.

Jack leaned against his friend, taking stock of his surroundings. He was feeling better, now he thought about it, though his legs were still having trouble connecting to his brain. Sure enough, coming into shore was a small craft from the _Seraph_, Annie Palmer aboard.

"I'll tell you the truth, lad," Jack said, keeping his voice low. "I've no clear idea how we're going to get out of this one." Strangely enough, that seemed to amuse Will. "You've an odd idea of a jest, boy."

"You mean there's no 'I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?' in the immediate offing?" Will chuckled.

Jack thought about that, and told him the unvarnished truth. "Captain Jack Sparrow clipped his wings seven years ago when I took that letter of marque so you'd not have to see me hang. He died for much the same reason." Jack sighed. "Now I've been Lord John Finch so long I'm not sure if Captain Jack Sparrow exists anymore." He shook his head in disgust. "Look at the stupid rum thing."

Oops. Jack had half forgotten he had an audience. Will stared at him. "You – that was for me?"

The pirate slumped. "Aye, lad, for you and wee Lizbet. Never meant you should know, but Annie Palmer's demon brew seems to've loosened my tongue." He shrugged. "Well, I couldn't put you through more grief, could I?" Will continued to stare. "Stop looking at me like a slackjawed idiot, boy. You're drawing flies."

Will shut his mouth with a snap. "When we get out of this, you and I are going to have a talk about unwanted sacrifices."

Jack snorted. "When we – you're as cocky as ever I was, Will."

"Not at all. The truth is, you're still Captain Jack Sparrow."

"For all the good it does."

Will grinned and ducked his head to whisper. "And the _Seraph_ had at least one stowaway… " He broke off as Annie got out of the boat with Nicodemus, the latter stalking toward them.

~*~

"How much longer?" Emmy's voice was a raspy whisper.

Rose pressed her eye to the crack in the hull of the _Seraph_. "Not long. The sun is beginning to set; it'll be dark enough soon," she whispered back.

Emmy nodded. "It's been an hour, just about." She glanced up at the round circle of light filtering through the knothole Rose had poked away. 

They'd realized Will was being held in the cabin above early the day before, when they heard Annie Palmer screaming epithets at him right over their heads. Rose had waited, balancing on Emmy's shoulders, until she was sure he was alone; then she had carefully pried at a knothole in the planking separating them, using a tarnished knife they'd found on the storeroom floor. Luck was with them; Emmy, being taller and therefore closer to the knothole once Rose had finished her work, had managed a few hurried whispers, telling Will that his daughter was safe, before someone had come in to guard him. And that had been, unfortunately, that.

Until they'd taken Will away, just about an hour ago. He'd argued, protested, taunted, cleverly gleaning information from the captain, Nicodemus, whose basso profundo tones carried well through the deck planking. So now they knew that whatever Annie Palmer was going to do, she was going to do at midnight. Roughly six hours to stop her. And one of them was already gone.

Emmy could make out Rose looking at her in the shifting shadows of the empty galley storeroom. "We can do this," she said, trying to sound reassuring.

Rose nodded. "There's still so much we don't know. Do you think she left the bottles on board?"

"No." Emmy shook her head decisively. "If I were holding captive souls, I'd make certain of them, not leave them to chance. What if the ship rolled and one of them got smashed? She has them with her."

"Aye." Rose nodded again. "Emmy…"

"Yes?"

"What would make a man who wanted to die choose to live?"

Emmy thought about that. "I don't know. Instinct, I expect."

Rose sat forward, her chin on her knees. "What sort of instinct?"

"Oh, the usual ones. Self preservation, protect your loved ones, that sort of thing." Emmy stretched her neck this way and that, trying to work out the kinks. "Why?"

But Rose had fallen into a brown study and made no answer.


	14. Chapter 14

Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 14

Soaking wet again. Emmy grimaced, plucking the fabric of her borrowed shirt away from her skin as she followed Rose over the rocky beachhead, trying to keep her head down. At least this wasn't England, where even in summer one was liable to catch a chill. On the other hand, the drying salt was making her itch something fierce. And her hair was one big, sticky, knotted mat. Thanks to the coral rocks they were clambering over, a goodly portion of the skin was gone from her palms. Her midsection was raw where she'd scraped herself over the cannon port getting off the _Seraph_. She was filthy, she was tired, she was cold, and she was sure she smelled horrid. And most of the time she was in absolute terror for her life, and for Ned's.

It occurred to Emmy that she'd never in her whole life felt quite so alive.

"Hssst!" Rose tugged Emmy down behind a boulder. "There they are."

Emmy squinted over the weathered black coral. The party from the _Seraph_ had built a fire on the beach, and Emmy could see the captives clearly. She was relieved to see that Will seemed no more the worse for wear, though he was still shirtless and the marks of the blacksnake lash still stood livid against his skin. Her brother and Bill Turner seemed much the same, still impassive and blank.

Jack Sparrow, on the other hand, was not faring well. He was on his knees, leaning absurdly against Will's legs, like a rag doll Emmy had once had who wasn't padded right.

Annie tugged something from her reticule and glanced at it. Emmy's heart leaped in hope; Rose's fingers dug into Emmy's arm. But it was merely a timepiece. 

  
"That should be long enough," Annie snapped, her voice carrying easily on the night breeze. Emmy watched as Nicodemus and Ned dragged Jack away from Will, who lunged for him. Bill grabbed his son and held him, struggling. 

  
Jack was having trouble standing without assistance, draping himself across Ned's shoulders. He gave Annie an insouciant grin. "Can't keep your hands off me, can you, darlin'? I've that effect on plenty of wenches." 

  
She smiled back, a black and predatory grin. "I admit, Jack, there is something about you. Even when you were a stripling I felt it, and now… yes, I think I may take you to my bed before I devour your soul." She laughed, softly. "No, not before. While." 

  
Jack's cocky demeanor couldn't hide the shiver that shook him. Annie took his face between her hands, caressing his jaw with her fingers, and then she bent her mouth to his and kissed him deeply. 

  
Will tensed; Emmy could see it even at this distance, every muscle bunched and straining. She bit her lip, only barely aware of a riveted Rose at her side. Surely this was the end of Jack Sparrow. 

  
The kiss ended. Jack staggered back a step, spitting into the sand and then falling over, retching slightly. Annie watched him carefully for long minutes. Emmy held her breath, waiting for the first signs of possession. 

They didn't come. 

Jack's raspy breathing slowed to normal, Ned dragged him to his feet again. Annie leaned in, studying his face, her own growing thunderous. "Damn that obeah! I should have killed her outright!" 

  
A low chuckle floated from behind Emmy and Rose, causing every tiny hair on Emmy's neck to stand straight up. It couldn't be… They turned slowly. 

  
Maman stood there, her white hair streaming, her white robes moving faintly in the Caribbean breeze. For a moment Emmy swore she could hear the echo of drums. 

The old woman held out her hands to them. "Come. 'Tis nearly time." 

~*~ 

  
Will stifled his sigh of relief once it became apparent that Jack wouldn't succumb to Annie's wiles just yet, despite whatever was in the poisonous brew she'd fed him. Instead he stood stoic as Jack doggedly made his way across the short distance that separated them and climbed the young blacksmith, much as a cat would a tree. Annie watched them with narrowed eyes; his face turned away from her, Jack grinned at Will and winked, then flopped back over to face her, his eyelids at half mast.

Annie folded her arms. "Where is it, Jack?"

He waved his hands about, the shackles clanking. "Where's what?"

"The Hand, Jack. Where is it?"

"I told you, it's here." Jack hiccuped. "Somewhere about."

Annie frowned mightily. "I've no time for this. Husband?" Immediately Ned was at Will's side, a cocked pistol at the younger man's temple. Will flinched; he couldn't help it. "Now," Annie purred, "you will tell me exactly where that damned Maman hid the Hand of Power or you can watch your friends die one by one. Choose."

Jack staggered forward. "You were here, Annie love, remember?"

She stalked toward him and curled her fist into his collar, hissing into his face. "Aye, I was here." Annie all but spat at the pirate. "Do you know how many times I have died in the last twenty years, Sparrow? The first time was here, thanks to Maman and your friend Teach. They buried me here, under the sand and the rocks, and the vermin came and dined on my flesh. And then my salvation came in the unlikely guise of a drunken sailor who had the misfortune to fall asleep on my grave. I took his soul to sustain me, and his boat to rescue me. I died again, this time of starvation, on the open sea, until a ship came alongside and took my body aboard. Again I was restored a little, for a while, and again I died. And again." Annie released him, giving him a little shove. Jack staggered back. "And again," she went on, "and again, until I found souls enough to restore this body, to sustain this façade of living." Will shivered. Annie ignored him, her black eyes glittering. "But it has taken a toll on me past your limited comprehension. The Hand of Power will restore me, will give me power beyond imagining."

"I dunno," Jack interrupted cockily. "I can imagine quite a bit."

Annie grinned, for all her beauty a death's head grimace if ever there was one, and Will felt his skin crawl. "Can you, Jack Sparrow? Can you imagine the Beast himself, and at my command?" The tiny hairs on the back of Will's neck stood up. "Time is fleeting, Jack. The Hand or your friend's life."

Jack sighed and waved a defeated hand inland. "Come on then." He weaved away, trolling his way inland crabwise. 

~*~

Emmy and Rose had secreted themselves in the bare nick of time, for here came bobbing shadows and the sounds of voices and footsteps scraping over the black coral rock from which this chamber had been hewn, God only knew when. As far as Emmy could tell they were nearly at the heart of this volcanic island, and the atmosphere was nearly stifling, warm and humid. Sweat prickled the backs of her knees and across her upper lip, beading at her hairline and sliding down her neck. 

Maman had led them into this place through some convoluted series of caves, and had then melted away like the snows of yesteryear without giving the young Englishwoman a chance to ask how the crone had come to be there, or how she knew the way to this Hand Annie spoke of, or anything of use. Emmy had never felt so ill-prepared in her life, and nothing she'd yet faced had been as vital as this. Her brother's life, that was what she fought for. No, not just his life. His very soul. Emmy shivered despite the warmth of the cavern, twisting her fingers together to stop their shaking.

She tilted her head back to look overhead; the ceiling of this chamber, if it had one, was lost in the darkness, unlit by the phosphorescence that gently glowed on the lower walls. 

Annie came in then, followed by a defiant Will, a limp Jack, the blanks that had been Bill and Ned, and Nicodemus. Emmy shrank back as Annie reached her torch over her head. By God, they were so very close that if Emmy stretched her fingers across the outcropping that hid herself and Rose, she could grasp the witch by the hand.

There was a sort of trough cut out of the wall, and it was to this that Annie touched her torch. A yellow flame leapt to life, spreading and traveling in a fiery band around the entirety of the chamber, lighting it clearly.

Now Emmy could see the island in the center of the chamber. It was surrounded by water, over which soft steam rolled gently. A plank and rope bridge spanned the distance from where they sat to the island, a low, flat, broad hump of rock, in the center of which sat a low stone table. And on that table...

It sat on its truncated wrist, gleaming a dull bronze in the flickering light. The thumb, first and second fingers were extended, the third and fourth were tucked close to the palm, exactly like a benediction. Each finger was twisted, misshapen, malignant, tipped with some sort of symbol that was beyond Emmy's experience. Annie Palmer's entire body was canted toward it, her own hands outstretched to her prize.

At an order from the witch Will's hands were freed. "Now, Mr. Turner," she said. "Touch my skin and Nicodemus will slit your father's throat. Retrieve the Hand for me, and I will restore him to you. Simple, is it not?"

"Get it yourself." Will stared her down. "You'll kill us anyway."

Annie smiled. "I give you my word, I shall not."

"You can't touch it, can you? Any more than you can touch me." 

Annie snorted. "Don't be a fool. 'Twould do me no good if I could not touch it. I merely need you to get it for me."

"Protected from the likes of you, then. I see." Will looked the witch up and down. "How do I know you can do what you say?"

For answer Annie rummaged in her reticule, pulling forth a pair of small, iridescent bottles. Emmy's scalp prickled. Surely, surely…

Annie placed them on another outcropping nearby. "You may free him yourself, then. The Hand, Mr. Turner."

Emmy stifled a frustrated huff. So bleeding near and so sodding far. She wanted to throw a tantrum. Throw something, anyway. She looked around at Rose. 

Who was on her stomach, inching toward the bottles.

Emmy wasn't given to dithering, as a rule, but now she bit her lip, undecided as to what to do. Should she create a diversion? Lay low? Right now fainting and staying unconscious until it was all over was the most appealing option. She watched the soles of Rose's bare feet disappear around the outcropping.

Will was at the table, now, Annie hard on his heels. Nicodemus was by the near end of the bridge, his eyes on his mistress. Emmy chewed her lip until she tasted blood. Something was coming, coming for them all. She could feel it in the air.

"Give it to me!" Annie took the Hand from Will triumphantly, pushing her fist inside, shrieking words in a language Emmy had never heard, in a language no human was meant to hear. Emmy's heart was pounding, she could hear every breath as it entered and left her burning lungs. The water around the island roiled.

Jack Sparrow staggered, falling against Nicodemus, who shoved the captive away, sending him hard into the rough coral wall. Emmy could see the pirate's face was bleeding as he slid to the ground.

Rose crept from behind the rocks, placing a foot squarely in Nicodemus' arse and giving him a hard shove. "Oi!" 

Emmy panicked, standing up suddenly. What was Rose doing? The _Seraph_'s captain would surely kill her! Rose glanced at Emmy and raised her arm.

A gleaming bit of iridescence came arcing through the air at her. Emmy leapt for it, plucking the bottle out of midair. She landed, spun, and dashed it with all her might at the wall, shattering the shards far and wide.

Emmy whirled back toward her friend. Nicodemus' face was evil incarnate, his yellow eyes nearly aglow with hatred as he stalked Rose. She stumbled back a step or two, turned to face him, and threw the bottle she held defiantly to the ground.

Nicodemus raised his cutlass and brought it down in a malevolent slash – and then steel clanged on echoing steel as a second sword stopped the deathblow in mid strike. 

"Not bloody likely," growled Bootstrap Bill through clenched teeth, and he kicked Nicodemus back with a vicious boot to the black man's ribs. "Get 'ee back, Rose love," he said, tugging a dagger from his boot. "I got a score to settle."

The clank of chains caught Emmy's attention, and there was Jack Sparrow, on his feet, eyes a-sparkle and braids a-flying, dropping his manacles to the cavern floor. "Will!" he shouted. "Get out of there!"

The steaming sea surrounding the island erupted in a waterspout, and then, horrifically, a huge, scaled claw erupted from below and landed with a deep and reverberating boom on the edge of the small island. 

"I shall ride the Beast and bring the end of days!" shrieked Annie Palmer, throwing her arms wide. "Come! Take the souls I have brought for us to share!" There was an unearthly, deafening growl in answer, and the witch began to laugh.

Emmy screamed; Jack grabbed Rose and ran with her to take what cover there was behind the larger outcropping. Ned took three giant steps and threw his sword with all his might at Annie's heart. It speared her neatly, skewering her through the breastbone. She looked down at it, and threw her head back, laughing in earnest. 

"Fool!" She pulled the sword free, brandishing it. "It's already begun. You cannot stop it now!"

White flashed from across the cavern; Will leapt for the Hand, wrenching it from Annie's grasp and throwing it in that direction. Time slowed as it sailed, end over end, and then…

Maman caught it and held it aloft.

"NOOOOO!" Annie shrieked in fury. "Damn you all!" She moved suddenly, decisively.

And then Will Turner gasped and gurgled, staring down in amazement at the sword point protruding from his chest. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he swayed and went to his knees, and then fell, face forward, to the black coral.

"ANNIE PALMER!" The female voice cracked like thunder as a shadow formed over Maman's head. No, not a shadow, a light, a shade of Maman herself, huge and hovering. Maman held out the Hand, and the shade reached into Annie's chest and pulled free a struggling wisp of light.

And then lights were flying free from Annie, who appeared suspended, twitching, like a marionette with tangled strings; hundreds of them, it seemed, spiraling up and around and away.

A head loomed behind the island, huge, scaled, horned. Emmy screamed again. The creature – the Beast – shook its head like a dog, rearing back with a howl. Once again Maman held out the Hand, and the creature flinched, chastised. It looked around, pawing at the rock, leaving huge ditches where its claws scored the stone. 

Annie Palmer looked at the creature, mouthing something Emmy couldn't hear. The Beast reached for the witch who had summoned it, opened its fearsome maw, and – Emmy covered her eyes and screamed a third time, but not loud enough to cover the sound of crunching bone and gristle.

A maelstrom grew inside the cavern, whirling, whipping Emmy's hair into her eyes and mouth, sending them all stumbling back against the cavern walls. The Beast roared in feral protest as Maman's thunderous intonations resonated inside their very bones, making Emmy's teeth chatter.

And then all was still.

Emmy opened her eyes. The Beast was gone; of Annie Palmer there was no sign. Maman stood alone, the Hand of Power lying at her feet. Rose ran to Bill, who kicked Nicodemus' prone and bloodied form away, his eyes only for his son across the way. Jack and Ned scrambled across the bridge, rolling the still body over, feeling frantically at neck and chest. There was a pause, and then they stared at one another, identical grief in gray eyes and brown.

"Oh, God, no," said Jack Sparrow, disbelief in his tone.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: After many delays and real life intervening, here, at last, is the end of this story. Please keep your seats in the upright and locked position until the story comes to a full stop. And do drop me a line to let me know what you thought!

Mark The Earth with Ruin

Chapter 15

A great stillness descended on the cavern in the wake of Jack's exclamation, as though each player in the tragedy was frozen in place.

Maman shuffled toward the bridge, her footsteps echoing in the quiet. 

Jack whirled on her, his borrowed sword outstretched. "Fix this."

Emmy stared, startled, as Maman tilted her head toward him in the way sightless persons sometimes do. "What you think I be, Jack Sparrow?"

His voice was insistent. "I know what you are. We all saw. You can change this." 

That got Rose's attention. She turned from Bill, who seemed made of marble. "Maman… Brigitte?" Rose's blue eyes were wide but steady. Ned looked up from where he sat huddled over Will's body.

"Aye, child." The crone's mask slipped, just for a split second, but suddenly Emmy knew what they meant, and was frightened. This was no old woman, no ancient obeah, no mere Vodoun priestess in their midst. This was power, pure and terrifying.

Jack held firm, though Emmy could see his hands were shaking. "You owe him this."

That made Maman frown. Emmy trembled. "Bold words, boy."

Ned spoke up then. "If you had done twenty years ago what you did tonight –"

Maman swiveled to 'look' at him. "I did what I could then." She touched her eyes briefly. "I was hindered then. Not now."

"Why were you hindered then?" As soon as the words were out Emmy wished she could snatch them back, for Maman's terrible regard swung toward her. 

The crone smiled. "Why, because then, child, this body lived."

Emmy's tongue became thick, cleaving to the roof of her mouth, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

Maman made her way to Will's side, Jack right behind her. 

"Please," he said quietly. "Not for me. For Bill. For the child Lizbet. You're Maman Brigitte – you keep the souls of the dead. You can bring him back."

She knelt by Will's body, Ned pulling back to make room. "That one mighty wound, Jack. What I do with that?"

Ned glanced up at her, his gray eyes steely. "Give it to me."

~*~

White, everything was white, like the thickest fog. Will looked around, a little nonplussed. This was decidedly odd. 

He'd been in the cavern with the others, desperately afraid, trying even at the last to stop Annie Palmer from bringing the end of days… Will shivered, more from remembered fear than present discomfort. He remembered wresting the Hand from Annie's grasp, and then… Cold, piercing cold, stabbing through him…

Stabbing…

Oh.

"Will."

He turned at the familiar sound. Elizabeth stood, lit like a nimbus by the brilliant light behind her. "Elizabeth…" She was beside him, in his arms. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I never meant…" He kissed her face, her hair, her lips. "I've missed you so."

She smiled. "I know." She framed his face in her hands, studying him, her doe eyes sober. "'Tisn't your time, my love. Our daughter still needs you." She chuckled. "And poor Norrington is hardly ready to be a father."

Will blinked. "'Twas a mortal wound, Elizabeth. How can I –?" 

She laid a finger across his lips. "Just… trust."

And then everything was dark again.

~*~

"Give it to me."

Galvanized, Emmy ran forward. "No, Ned. I didn't come all this way to watch you die." 

Jack turned to Maman. "Let me share the wound with him. The burden halved may not be fatal."

Maman pursed her lips. 

"Make it thirds," shouted Bill.

"Quarters," called Rose. Without hesitation Emmy made it unanimous.

Maman grinned. "Aye then, five to share the burden of one."

The old woman picked up the sword that was sticky with Will Turner's lifeblood. She took Ned's hand and cut it quickly, staining the blade further. Emmy held out her hand.

Maman took blood from each of them, chanting all the while. For a moment nothing happened, and then – 

Emmy felt her chest begin to crack, and spill. She gasped, pressing her hands to her breastbone, drawing them away crimson. Emmy gritted her teeth against the pain, determined not to cry out. Bright scarlet bloomed on Jack's shirtfront, slithered down Bill's chest, stained Rose's borrowed blouse, soaked the back of Ned's shirt as he bent over his friend.

Will arched suddenly, noisily gulping in air, coughing, groaning. And when Emmy saw the expression on her brother's face, the pain in her chest didn't matter anymore.

Jack held out a hand to help Ned up. Bill, for his part, knelt and lifted his son, heedless of the injury that now decorated his broad chest. Will wearily tucked his head into the hollow of his father's shoulder, Emmy slipped an arm around Rose's waist, as much to steady herself as to help the other girl, and they made their way out of the cave.

And it didn't seem strange at all that Maman had disappeared.

~*~

Dawn was breaking, streaking the sky a gaudy pink as they staggered from the tunnel. A rolling boom caught their attention.

"Is that thunder?" asked Rose.

Jack shook his head, his expression alert. "No, lass. That's cannon fire." He grinned as they broke from the underbrush to the wide expanse of rocky beach. "That's me _Pearl_!"

Listing a bit to one side, she was, but the black hull and sails were unmistakable in the bright light of dawn. The _Seraph_ bobbed nearby, smoking, a gaping wound in her belly, her chin to the heavens and her arse under the waves. Jack hooted, waving both arms, as the slave ship went down. 

They watched as a tiny skiff made its way to the shore. A tall and diffident pirate waded to the beach and doffed his hat to Jack, who grinned.

"Need a ride, Cap'n?"

Jack laughed aloud. "Swale, by all that's – damme, lad, next ship I take is yours. How did you get here so timely?"

Swale, a not unhandsome fellow with sandy hair and freckles, grinned. "Been following that there Nicodemus fer days, Cap'n. Damage t' the _Pearl_ looked worse than 'twas, above the water line 'n' all. We made repairs on th' fly. Didn't like to attack while ye were on board, though." He bowed and swept his hat toward the skiff. "If ye'd like to come aboard, Cookee's got a hot meal waitin'."

Hours later, clean, bandaged, rested and fed, the six adventurers faced one another in Jack's cabin. "… 'n' then Ned here offered t' take yer wound fer ye, son," Bill was saying. "He was willin' t' die fer ye."

Emmy leaned forward. "And if you ever scare me like that again, James Edmund Norrington…"

"Emmeline!" Norrington hissed.

Will and Jack exchanged surprised glances. "James?" they chorused.

Ned blushed. "Don't like the name James," he muttered. "People kept calling me – "

"'Tis a perfectly good name, Jamie-lad," chortled Jack.

" – things like Jamie-lad," said Ned irritably.

Will chuckled. "You're in for it now, Ned."

"I could call you Teddy," Jack pointed out, his tone reasonable. "Or Long Jim."

"Not if you plan to make it back to Port Royal in one piece," growled Ned.

Jack drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, still smiling. "Well, I been thinking on that."

Will looked at him. "The return of Captain Jack Sparrow?" Jack merely grinned. Will nodded. "About time."

Ned looked aghast. "But – Jack, I'd have to – I don't want to have to – I'm the Governor, man!"

Jack looked steadily at him. "You don't have to be."

"What?"

Jack steepled his fingers. "Day-to-day government, backbiting politics – that's not what you want out of life, Ned, and well you know it. Hell's bells, you've been turning more of that over to Weston every day."

Ned bridled. "Are you saying I shirk my duties?"

"Heaven forbid, no," Jack shook his head, braids flying. "What I am saying is – you're looking for more from your life, are you not?"

"What do you suggest?" Ned leaned back in his seat. "Piracy?"

Gold teeth glinted. "You'd make a ripping pirate, Jamie-lad, if you weren't such a stick." He chuckled. "No. I think perhaps your heart lies elsewhere, that's all. Somewhere where you can make a difference to people, people for whom differences are rarely made. People who have no one else to speak for them."

Will folded his arms. "He's right, you can make a difference, Ned. In England, in Parliament. Where they need to hear about the realities of the slave trade. And about people like Nicodemus, who traffic in human lives."

Ned stroked his chin. "You think I could do that?"

Emmy patted her brother's arm. "Of course you could." 

Jack grinned. "And what about you, Bill?"

Bill tucked Rose's hand into the crook of his arm. "I been thinkin' on that, too, Jack. I have a question fer ye."

"Oh aye?"

"Do ye know the captain of a ship who might be willin' t' perform a marriage?"

~*~

__

Jamaica, present day

"But what about Anamaria and Zaid? What happened to them?"

The tour guide smiled. "Oh, they found Annie's stash of bottles, in this hidden room right here." She pressed a knothole in the wood and part of the paneling sprang open. "See this scar here?" The guide's fingers gently touched a gouge in the jamb. "This is where Joshamee Gibbs tried to kill Ana with a table leg, before Zaid broke the bottles."

"Oohhhh," breathed her listeners. 

"So Gibbs was made a zombie too?" one preteen girl wanted to know.

"Oh, yes," replied the tour guide. "But Zaid began smashing the bottles just in time."

"What did Ana do?"

The guide grinned. "She kicked Gibbs where it counts, and then he was released from the spell." That got a couple of sympathetic groans from the male members of the tour group; it always did.

A little girl in the front of the group piped up. "What about Lizbet?"

The tour guide squatted, bringing her to eye level with the girl. She tugged on one of the child's curls. "Lizbet grew up, like all little girls do. She and Will and Bill and Rose were very happy." The tour guide got to her feet with a smile. "There are still Turner descendants living on Jamaica today, they say."

An older woman raised her palm. "And Emmy and Ned?"

"Emmy Norrington kept house for her brother until she married a respectable merchant seaman named Richard Swale. And Lord James Edmund Norrington worked tirelessly for the abolition of slavery from the Caribbean until his death, though it didn't happen until nearly fifty years after that."

"And Captain Jack?" This was a teenaged boy. 

The tour guide smiled. "Well, now, that's another story." The group had reached the entrance again. "Thank you all for your interest in Rose Hall plantation. I hope you enjoyed your time here today. Please remember to visit the gift shop on your way out!" The tour guide chuckled to herself as the last of the group filed out. 

The sun was lowering on the horizon, setting the sea aflame. The guide carefully picked her way across the field behind Rose Hall, heading towards the woods where a granite block lay nearly concealed by vines. 

She smoothed her hands across the stone. It was hot to the touch, but 'twas not the sun which warmed it. She could feel the fury simmering from the ground under the stone, where a small bottle lay buried. 

"That's right. I'm still here. Still on guard." The guide chuckled, pulling the scarf from her head. Her long white hair spilled over her shoulders, lifted in the breeze. "You got a long wait, Annie Palmer."


End file.
